Desperation
by YummyFoods
Summary: When an angelification spell is cast on Dean during a hunt, Team Freewill scrambles to reverse it before Dean loses his humanity. Gabriel suggests an alternative, but will Team Freewill be able to make the necessary sacrifices? Sabriel & Destiel slash!
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Restless 

Everything was fine before that hunt in Fountain Green, Illinois. If it hadn't been for that fucking demon and its spell, Dean's life would have been apple pie.

Okay, maybe that's over-exaggerating things. The Apocalypse was literally gnawing on the Winchesters' heels, God was still being a deadbeat dad, and they still had no clear plan on how to put an end to it all before it ended them. Dean was still secretly playing babysitter on Sammy, just to make sure he wasn't taking hits of demon blood. Frankly, Dean had enough on his already heaping-full plate; he didn't want to have to fuck with detoxing his little bro when there was Satan to gank. And let's not forget that Castiel was currently all but human. He was still a very valuable asset to the team, sure, but where they once had a teenage mutant ninja angel kicking ass on their side, they now just had a teenage mutant with an inkling of ninja and a smidgeon of angel.

But this new complication was piling so much onto Dean's plate that it was overflowing. Ever since that damn hunt, things had just become more difficult, more confusing, and more downright awkward. A week ago the eldest Winchester wouldn't have believed that his fucked-up life could possibly get any more fucked-up, but here it was, doing just that. Dean figured that his life had taken a one-way ticket and left the world of pretty-fuckin'-freaky-doesn't-begin-to-explain-it and had now entered the nebula of what-the-fuck-is-this-shit-and-how-the-fuck-do-I-make-it-all-stop.

And there was no return in sight.

Dean lay awake in the old motel bed, staring listlessly up at the blue ceiling. He didn't know how long he had been there, listening to his brother's quiet snores and Castiel's restless tossing and turning as he tried to get comfortable in his sleep. The poor guy had never slept before in his millennia of existence, and though his body undeniably needed that rest now that he had lost most of his Grace, he was incredibly uncomfortable and unused to lying prone and vulnerable for hours at a time.

For this reason (or so he told himself), Dean stayed up every night, watching over the other two. All his life, the responsibility of taking care of and protecting the people around him had always been on his shoulders. Though sometimes terribly painful or burdening, this was a weight that he would undoubtedly feel lost without. Dean came across as the gruffest of the Winchester brothers, but there was no question that his heart was the biggest. He would gladly die if it meant Sammy or Cas could live to see another day—Hell, he'd died once for Sam already, and even though Hell was by no means a walk in the park, he would stroll right into that great maw of fire, fear, and pain if only to save the people he loved from having to do the same.

There was also the teensy reason that ever since that hunt in Illinois a week ago, Dean had been physically incapable of falling asleep.

It freaked the hell out of him, but he dared not inform the others out of fear of sounding like a pussy. Instead, Dean Winchester did was he did best: kept his problem to himself and tried his hardest not to think about it. Of course, it was difficult _not _to think about it when he now had an extra five or six hours a night in which there was nothing to do but contemplate shit.

And let's not forget that even if he felt the desire to sleep, he probably wouldn't be able to since Cas's body was letting off some strange silver glow that illuminated the room a tad too much for Dean to be comfortable drifting off. It seemed that nobody, not even Castiel, noticed this but Dean, so he again said nothing about it. The glowing had also started after that goddamn hunt. Dean sighed and let out a small growl of frustration, confusion, and discontent and rolled onto his side.

His gaze locked with Castiel's icy blue one, and Dean was startled by how other-worldly those eyes were, how obviously super-human they were even though Cas was now almost a human. Dean forced himself to look at something else, something neutral, something that would keep him from staring at Castiel and thinking those awkward, confusing thoughts that tended to pop up in his head ever since that fucking hunt.

"Dean," Castiel said softly, though in that same low, gravelly voice that carried such an immense presence.

"Yeah, what?" Dean appeared to be fascinated by the alarm clock that declared it was seventeen minutes past four in the morning, and therefore replied to the angel in a distant tone.

"You haven't slept in days," he observed astutely. Inwardly, Dean blanched. He had thought he had put up a pretty convincing act most nights, but apparently not. Of course, trying to fool an angel wasn't exactly easy.

Dean decided to attempt to lie. "What are you talking about? I just sleep while you do."

Cas fixed him with those steady blues again, and that hard look told Dean that his celestial friend may not have been as omniscient as he used to be, but that he could still see bullshit for what it was.

The elder Winchester sighed and forced himself to look back to the alarm clock before those thoughts started coming again. "So I haven't slept in a few days. Sleepless nights are just part of the gig, y'know."

"It's more than that," Cas argued. "You've been acting differently since that hunt in Fountain Green. There's something you're not telling Sam and me."

Dean rolled his eyes and then closed them, hoping that it was a good feign of fatigue. In reality, sometimes he found that looking at Cas and his odd silver glow when they were in close proximity hurt his eyes and he had decided it best to give them a break. He could still see the glow behind his eyelids, but it was blunter and much more bearable. He said dismissively, "You're just paranoid. Go to sleep, Cas."

But Castiel remained firm. Though his eyes were shut, Dean could _feel_ the intensity of the glower the angel was wearing as he looked at Dean with mixed confusion and irritation. That was something Dean had always admired about him—his steadfastness. Castiel was a rock that could not, would not be budged by anything, whether it be his ape-shit crazy family, their ridiculous ways of thinking, or even Fate itself. When Cas set a goal, he saw it through to the end, using whatever means he needed to get there.

That was something Dean knew he would never fully be able to emulate. Sure, the Winchester was stubborn and headstrong to a fault, but deep down, in the darkest recesses of his soul, Dean was filled with nothing but self-doubt and loathing. He had crumbled in Hell and became a twisted monster, had relished the pain he brought to the poor souls that were next on his rounds. He was weak, pathetic, and deserved whatever pain and suffering he was granted during his time on Earth. Dean felt that, in a way, each injury, each pang of heartache, fear, and loneliness he received helped him atone for all the atrocities he had committed in Hell. Of course, there was nothing that could _truly_ make up for everything he had done down there, this Dean knew full and well, but he needed to try. He couldn't stand to live with himself unless he was at least attempting to rectify all his misdeeds. That was why he cherished every cut, every bruise and every broken bone he received, refusing to let Cas heal him even when he had enough mojo for it. Dean _deserved_ this and tenfold more, and he would gladly accept each wound until he was in his grave.

Dean stared down at his bare chest and at the bright red puckering flesh that marked a long and very freshly-healed gash beginning under his left ribs and ending just short of his right kidney. His guts had very nearly tumbled right out of him and onto the ground that night in fucking Fountain Green, and they would have if Cas hadn't used some of his very precious angel juice to patch him up.

"Dean," Cas said, commanding his attention with his fierce, though quiet voice. It was apparent from his irked tone that he had said something Dean hadn't heard. "Tell me what's wrong. Please. If what I did to you left any side effects, it's of great import that I know—"

"I'm fine, okay?" Dean growled, and though his words came out as a question, his tone made it quite clear that there was to be no reply. "I feel just the same as I always have. Now go to sleep, will ya? Christ." With that, he rolled over to face his brother, who was infinitely less annoying than the angel at the moment. A few minutes later, Dean could still feel Castiel's gaze burning onto his back and he said over his shoulder, "And quit staring at me. You're givin' me the creeps."

The angel's eyes widened in surprise. "How did you know that I was looking at you?"

"Say one more word and I swear to God I'll punch you, Cas." Dean had found that deflecting unwanted questions with promises of physical harm usually worked, and he was relieved to see that it had the desired effect. Castiel fell silent and he quit looking at Dean, and the Winchester heaved a sigh of relief. Once he was sure that Cas was asleep, Dean rolled onto his back once more and ran his fingers idly over the angry red scar on his belly.

For some reason, his gaze drifted over to his sleeping friend. Dean found it somewhat amusing that the angel refused pajamas and instead chose to sleep in his usual outfit of slacks, dress shirt, tie and trench coat. Perhaps all that extra bulk was what made it so hard for him to fall asleep. The soft glow Cas emitted was gentle and soothing, and Dean found himself wishing he could be closer to that warm light. The angel's features, usually so sharp and schooled, were smoothed and care-worn while he slept. This, Dean thought, was what an angel should look like—peaceful, compassionate, loving. Some of Castiel's hair was sticking up in odd places due to his restlessness, and it was rather…endearing.

Seeing the angel sleep soundly beside him made something large, warm and nameless burgeon up inside Dean, and this scared the hell out of him. What was this strange, unnatural feeling he got whenever he looked at Castiel for too long? Why was it that ever since that hunt a week ago, he found it hard to look into those blue eyes without getting that same warm happy feeling?

And what had made Dean develop the strong desire to touch the angel beside him, to feel the warmth that his silver glow gave off, to take in the sensation of his skin and hair?

Dean shook himself and ripped his eyes away from Castiel's visage. _Jesus, Dean. What the fuck is wrong with you?_

Let's get one thing straight right now. Dean was a straight man. As straight as a fucking flagpole. It was no secret that Dean loved nothing more than titties, tight asses, and a cold beer. He had nothing against gays—he just had never felt the urge to explore that other side of sexuality. He had never in all his life had even the faintest desire to cross into the foreign realm of butt-packing and bromances. Frankly, the idea of kissing a guy, let alone doing other things to one, was just weird as fuck to Dean. To him, the concept of himself getting physical with or having feelings for a guy felt about like wearing his shoes on the wrong feet—uncomfortable, unnatural, and against all common sense.

Hence, these feelings he got when he was around Cas served only to frustrate and confuse him. But he completely refused to examine them, because poking and prodding these feelings meant officially acknowledging that they existed, and officially acknowledging they existed meant a whole other world of self-doubt and questions he really, _really_ didn't want or need. As it was, Dean's sanity was holding on by a few very tattered, extremely frayed strings, and he didn't need anything else further straining their bond on his state of reality.

So instead of delving further into what these odd feelings and urges were, Dean chose to think back to that cursed night in Illinois. It was hard to believe that it had only happened six days ago—to him, it felt like a century of awkwardness and uncertainty had passed since that Thursday.

And Dean just knew that things were only going to get stranger.

Am I off to a good start? Haha I hope so! Next update should be soon, if I get positive reviews. Please no flames. See you soon, I hope! :)


	2. Chapter 2: Distractions Can Fix Anything

**A/N:** Here's chapter 2. I belatedly realized how short Chapter 1 had been. I'm not quite sure how long each chapter will be, but I'll try to keep them as uniform as possible. Mature content ahead. Kiddies, turn back now, please!

Also, there is an OC that comes into this chapter, but she's very temporary and a useful plot device, so don't worry. This isn't one of those annoying fics where there's some girl hunter that steals the heart of Dean or Sam or whoever. She's only in the story for two chapters and then she's gone. I just needed her to set up a few important things about my plotline that otherwise may have come across as a bit sudden and improbable.

Enjoy reading! :D

* * *

Chapter 2

Distractions Can Fix Anything

"So check this out," Sam said as he flopped the newspaper in his hand onto the diner booth table for both Dean and Castiel to read. The front page headline read "Mysterious Mass Murder Baffles Authorities."

According to the article, three families within the small township of Fountain Green, Illinois had all been shot to death two nights ago. All were families of five with children aged twelve and younger, and that seemed to be their only common factor. But the real kicker?

They had all been shot with crudely made lead bullets, like the ones used during and prior to the Civil War. There was no sign of struggle, though everybody had been awake at the time. And their blood had been completely drained, their hearts taken.

"So…what? Do you we have a vengeful spirit on our hands? Demon?" Dean thought aloud. A demon using an antique gun to do its dirty-work made little sense, and a ghost taking its victims blood and hearts was also outlandish, but when did demons or spirits ever make any sense?

"It's likely a vengeful spirit," Cas surmised. He then studied the buttered and jellied toast in his hand, as though weighing the pros and cons of going hungry.

Dean watched the angel's silent debate and said exasperatedly, "Just eat the damn toast, Cas. It's not as bad as it looks. Like it or not, you're gonna have to start eating more."

The angel's perfectly sculpted face creased into a frown and he seemed to take a second to steel himself before taking a quick bite. He chewed slowly, thoughtfully, and then looked up to the brothers. "This is…surprisingly tolerable," he admitted.

The eldest Winchester rolled his eyes, but there was a small, amused smile playing across his lips. "So, where is this Fountain Green place? How far is it from here?"

Sam was already using his phone to mapquest directions from their current location to their new destination. "Uh…it's about seven hours from here. If we leave now, we should make it to a motel by midnight."

"Great." Dean rose to his feet and tossed a few bills onto the table. "Let's hit the road."

Sam shot him a brief, shrewd look before picking up the newspaper and following his big brother's lead. Cas followed shortly after with a few pieces of toast in his hand and one between his lips, perhaps a bit too infatuated with his newly discovered cuisine to have noticed the way Dean was acting. Sure, the elder Winchester was always eager for a hunt, but over the past few months, it seemed as though he was pushing himself (and the others) to hunt ceaselessly. Sam was no dummy—he had spent much too much time with his brother not to know when something was wrong with him, and all the alarms were sounding that something was off with Dean Winchester. Of what exactly it was, his brother was unsure. He assumed it had something to do with the Apocalypse that was hanging over their shoulders though.

It was a long and boring drive through Missouri, and they all heaved a sigh of relief when they finally rolled into the town of Carthage, Illinois and checked out a room from the Prairie Winds Motel on its outskirts. It was rather late, and they wouldn't be able to do much until morning. In a community so small, nothing they did would go unnoticed so the boys had to take extra precautions not to raise any alarms. Carthage had a population of only about 2,500, and Fountain Green only had about 30 after the murders. Here, everybody would know everybody and their cousin's dog, and word that three strange, incredibly nice-looking men were suddenly in town and poking around in the string of deaths would spread like wildfire.

The motel was alright. It was lacking a kitchen and it was pretty small, but it was clean and would serve its purpose well enough. The biggest downside, however, was that there were no rooms that had three beds. Either someone was sleeping on the floor, or someone was sharing a bed. Dean was quick to throw his duffel bag onto one of the beds and thereby claim it as his own. Sam mirrored his brother with the other bed before collapsing on it, still wearing his clothes. Castiel, always patient and never in a hurry, sat down at the small table and watched the brothers. The dark circles beneath his eyes belied his perfect posture and bright eyes; Dean could tell the angel was tired, but doubted somewhat that he would sleep tonight.

Shrugging, Dean went into the bathroom to take a quick shower. He was stiff from driving for so long, and the hot water was sure to relax him. When he closed his eyes and the hot water hit his face and ran down his body, he could almost pretend that there was nothing outside of this bathroom, that there was no Apocalypse, no recovering addict brother sleeping in the room beside him, that there was nothing in this world except for cool blackness, the soothing pitter patter of the water, and the sensation it brought to him that seemed to warm and calm his very soul. Dean took solace in these few moments, as it would probably be his only reprieve from the harsh outside world until this hunt was over.

A while later, he emerged from the bathroom clad in an old AC/DC t-shirt and boxers, feeling as relaxed and refreshed as one could be, considering the end of the world was nigh.

Until he saw that his bed was no longer empty.

Cas, with all the social understandings of a paper plate, had moved Dean's territory marker from the bed and onto the ground, and had then fallen asleep spread-eagled on his stomach right in the middle of Dean's bed.

The elder Winchester had more than half a mind to announce his presence and displeasure to his sleeping, bed-thieving friend with a punch to the face.

But he resisted that strong urge. Castiel was sleeping for the first time in nearly two weeks, and Dean knew that the angel had to get at least a bit of rest to conserve what little mojo he still had left. Sleeping on the floor, however, was out the question. He had been spending too many nights falling asleep at Sammy's computer or in the Impala lately, and he _deserved_ a bed. He looked over to Sam's bed, and then to Cas. Share a bed with Sasquatch or the Holy Tax Accountant?

That was one of the easiest choices Dean had ever made. Carefully, he managed to roll Cas onto his side so half of the bed was empty. Dean crawled into the bed and got under the blankets, cringing at the realization that he was sharing a bed with a dude. He screwed his eyes shut and told himself just to forget it and fall asleep. It was only for a few hours. Gradually, his sleepy mind managed to forget that he was occupying the same bed as the angel and allowed him to drift off.

Dean awoke very slowly and reluctantly—he had been having an excellent dream in which he had met up with Natalie Portman out of freak coincidence. They had had a passionate, hot, very naughty romp before she had collapsed upon him, spent, and then rolled to his side where she put her arms around him. Dean was still feeling the bliss of the aftermath when something pulled him from this perfect unreality and shoved him into the much less desirable real world.

His tired mind struggled at first to distinguish the differences between the dream and his current situation. It had been night in the dream, and now it was mid-morning. Also, Dean was still wearing his pajamas. There was also the fact that he was sporting some extreme morning wood. There was only one thing that seemed consistent, however.

There was an arm wrapped around his waist comfortably, and someone's head was resting in the crook of his shoulder, their hair tickling Dean's jaw in a pleasant way.

And Dean bet money that it wasn't Natalie Portman.

No, no. Instead of the beautiful actress, Dean was holding none other than Castiel in his arms. The angel was sound asleep against him, breathing deeply out of his slightly parted mouth. His chest rose and fell gently with his breaths, and if Dean hadn't been in a complete state of manly-pride-at-serious-risk-of-being-cuddled-into-oblivion induced panic, he maybe would have found it charming.

Instead, he did what any self-respecting homophobe would do when he woke up with an aching boner and a man wrapped around him—he rolled away from Cas so vehemently that he plummeted out of the bed and straight onto the hard floor with a resounding THUD that awoke both the other men instantly. Dean had just enough time to obscure his hard-on with a corner of the blanket that had fallen with him.

Sam sat up and looked down at him in concern. "Dude, did you just fall out of bed?" he asked incredulously.

"No, I just dropped my flashlight from the nightstand," Dean lied smoothly. Because Dean Winchester would never, ever, under any circumstances admit that he had just rolled out of bed in order to escape a possibly boner-inducing body-to-body embrace with a fucking angel of the fucking _Lord._ He had _principles,_ goddammit. Principles that clearly stated things like that were _never_ supposed to happen to him, and if by some freak chance they did, they were never to be spoken of again.

Sam must have been too tired to care, because he didn't prod any further. Instead, he stretched and popped the joints in his back and neck and walked to the bathroom, scratching his stomach and yawning. Dean decided to lay there on the ground and think of Ruby's true demonic face until his not-so-little situation went away. Luckily, Ruby's face did the trick and Dean was fine to stand up in a couple minutes.

When he did, he purposefully refused to look the angel's way, still too mortified and baffled by the whole thing. Just how long had they slept like that? Did Castiel _know_? Had he meant to do that? God knew that the angel had more problems with personal space than a fucking leech, but at least Cas had to know by now that _spooning_ a person of the same sex was totally past the off-limits sign. Right? And—Dean was pissed with himself the very instant this thought popped unbidden into his head—did Dean just have a case of morning wood brought on by Natalie Portman's incredibly capable mouth, or…?

There was no way in _Hell_ that there was any other option. He was Dean Fucking Winchester, debonair and master lady's man, among innumerous other great, important, very _manly_ things. He had slept with more girls than he could count, and he planned on continuing that long-standing tradition until the day he died because there was nothing more gratifying than sinking into a beautiful girl's slick pussy, hearing her moan his name into his ear, feeling her quiver and squeeze around his cock as she succumbed to all the waves of pleasure he had bestowed upon her. It was downright impossible that anything a guy could do, let alone Cas, the socially handicapped nerd angel-turned-almost-human, would be able to turn him on.

Completely without warning, images flashed through Dean's mind at lightning speed—images of Cas hovering over him, his unnatural blue eyes smoldering with intense, unadulterated lust, of Castiel's back arching when Dean did something especially stimulating, and of the way the angel's head rolled back while he groaned the elder Winchester's name and the black silhouette of his wings became visible when they completely spread out behind him.

And fuck it all if Dean wasn't hard again.

Because of Natalie Portman, of course. Those…extremely graphic images of his friend were totally unwanted and disgusting. Why had they even popped into his head? Because Dean Fucking Winchester entertained absolutely _zero_ thoughts about other men, let alone men he had to live with almost 24/7.

He stood up and looked down at Cas, who was still laying down. His dress shirt had come partially unbuttoned during the night, revealing the hard lines of his muscled chest. The angel's hair was tousled and sticking up in odd places, and he was fixing Dean with one of those soul-searing gazes he was infamous for—the ones that were so serious, so deep that Dean swore he could see straight into Cas's eyes and into Heaven itself.

Dean couldn't take it. Now was not the time to share soulful looks with the angel, or any other person for that matter. Dean was no chick. He ran his hands through his hair in an aggravated manner and went to his duffel bag to get dressed.

"Would it be possible to procure some toast?"

Dean couldn't help but smile as he pulled out the black suit and began his transformation into F.B.I. Agent Dean Tyler. "Yeah. I'll run by the grocery store and see what I can find."

"Thank you." Castiel sat up and rolled his shoulders. Though Dean couldn't be absolutely sure, he assumed he was stretching his wings.

"Does it bother you, to sleep on your back?" Dean asked, straightening his tie.

"I find it inconvenient to sleep in general, but…sleeping on my back is rather unpleasant due to my wings. They get stiff."

"Ah." Neither Dean nor Castiel were chatterboxes, so the conversation died and the room was silent until Sam exited the bathroom in his own F.B.I. attire.

Dean was happy to get out of the motel, even if it was just for a quick breakfast run. Anything to get away from the awkward situation brewing in that room. The grocery store was small and located next to the square. After picking out a few different items, he proceeded to the check-out lanes and to the lonely cashier not-so-stealthily texting.

She looked up to him and flashed him a brilliant smile that made him grin back. She was in her early twenties, with long dirty-blond hair that curved into perfect spirals. Her eyes were a chocolatey, welcoming brown. And she had a nice rack, to boot. Her nametag stated that her name was Daily.

"Daily, huh?" he said lightly as he sat his things slowly, deliberately on the belt. "That's an unusual name."

"I know," she laughed. Her eyes raked over his body in a subtle perusal, and her smile told Dean that she liked what she saw. "You're not from here, are you?"

Dean gave her one of his best smiles. "How could you tell?"

"Well, first off, you're wearing a suit, and I don't know if you've met any of the locals yet, but they only wear suits if they're getting married or buried. And everybody here knows me and my name, so not too many people comment on it." Here, she gave him a playful smirk, a spark in her eyes. "And I know I'd remember seeing a man _half_ as sexy as yourself."

"Well, I guess I need some work then," he said. "How would you feel about helping me learn how to blend in later?"

Daily gave him a small smile as she took the money from his hand, making sure to trace her fingers down his. "I may have time for that," she said softly. She scribbled something onto the back of his receipt and then handed to him. "Here's your change, sir. Thank you."

Dean smiled a smile so beautiful it could break glass. "Thank _you_," he said lowly, giving her a quick wink. He turned and left, groceries in one hand, the girl's phone number in the other. This was exactly what he needed—getting laid would be the answer to all of his problems. It would help him relax and focus on the hunt. Maybe he'd even be able to get some helpful information out of her too.

The boys spent the day in and around Carthage and Fountain Green, hoping to find out more information about what they were up against. They spoke to the police officers, the family members and neighbors of the victims, and examined all three houses for anything out of the ordinary. Vast quantities of ectoplasm were present in all of the homes, leaking out of the floorboards and ceiling. The boys had never seen anything like it before, even when they were working that hunt in Pennsylvania with Jo. Whoever this spirit was, it was easily the most pissed-off fucker they'd ever messed with.

After a long day of looking for anything and finding nothing, Dean was ready to ditch his brother and the angel in favor of the fairer sex. Sam was off to break into the library and courthouse for more information on the houses and families involved, and Cas was doing…whatever it was an angel did in his spare time.

He met Daily at one of the bars in town. Clad in a short, fluid grey skirt that showed a remarkable but not slutty amount of her smooth legs and a somewhat dressy magenta tanktop with some beadwork, she was seated at the bar and drinking a beer while she waited for him. Her long, perfect curls framed her face wonderfully, and Dean wondered how soft her locks were.

As if sensing him, she turned to him and an angel's smile broke out across her lips. "Hey there," she greeted.

"Hey," Dean greeted back, sitting down beside her. "Sorry I'm a bit late. Paperwork."

"It's all good. So, did you and your boys manage to find out anything?"

"Nothing incriminating, as of yet," Dean smiled. "But let's not talk about work, huh? Tell me about yourself."

It turned out that the girl was a sophomore in college, studying foreign language and history. She was home for summer break and working for some extra cash. She hated it here and was ready to leave the small, boring town for good, but she didn't really know what she wanted to do with her life yet, but that she wanted to travel the world. She was overall a very nice person, someone the eldest Winchester could see himself spending time with more than just tonight.

As the time passed, business began to pick up in the bar and it became crowded and too loud to talk. Following Daily's directions, they wound up in the Impala in a secluded patch of woods in the middle of nowhere. She and Dean both laid out on the hood on the car and watched the stars for an immeasurable amount of time, and Dean sighed happily. When was the last time he was able just to _relax_ with somebody? When was the last time he had hung out with a _normal_ person?

Forever and a day?

When their lips met for the first time, it was sheer bliss. Her soft, warm skin gave into his firm, toned body and they melted together there on the hood of that Impala. It wasn't long until they were both down to nothing, the arid summer air keeping them warm despite the chill of the car's metal. And when Dean gently positioned her so she was facing the car, her body bent against the trunk, and then sheathed himself in her incredibly tight, wet passage, he had to bite his lip to hold back a groan of unadulterated pleasure. It had been way too fuckin' long since the last time he'd been laid. He had almost forgotten how downright _awesome_ it was to be inside a hot chick, to feel her walls give tiny quivers as her voice waivered.

"Please, give it to me," she breathed.

Dean didn't need to be asked twice. It was hot, dirty, rough sex, and it was everything Dean had needed. He pounded into her, her tits bouncing against the trunk of the Impala with every thrust as she mewled and moaned her desire. She hit the point of no return with a loud moan of Dean's name and a half-lidded gaze into his eyes that was so sensual it should have been forbidden. Dean reluctantly pulled out of her clenching, quivering core and was floored when she got down on her hands and knees before him to suck him off.

He hadn't had an orgasm that good in a long, long time. Too long. He was seeing white for a few seconds while the dirty-blonde ran her tongue along his length to clean up anything she had missed. Pleasure zinged through his entire body, from the tips of his toes to his scalp. He felt boneless, and it was all he could do to kiss her languidly, an affectionate hand on her bare hip.

"I've gotta say, you certainly know how to please a woman," she said quietly, her voice still a bit rough.

"You seem to know a few tricks yourself," he grinned, feeling like an immense load had just been lifted off his shoulders.

They were getting dressed and chatting about nothing in particular when they first heard the crackle of brush and movement from the woods. Both stopped and fell silent, peering into the woods but seeing nothing, what with it being well past midnight with minimal stars to illuminate the night.

"Probably a deer or something," the girl said easily, and began to put her tank top back on.

Dean dismissed it as well. They were a few miles from the houses the ghost had attacked, and they had nothing in common with the victims, so there was almost zero chance it was that after them. And since demons and angels couldn't find the Winchesters due to the Enochian tattoos on their ribs, it was unlikely that one was dropping by for a visit.

But then the snapping sounded again, much closer, and there was the heavy clank of metal on wood as something scraped by it. Dean was swift to stand in front of the civilian, protection mode on, because the last time he checked, deer weren't made of metal.

"Dean, hand me my purse, will ya?" Daily said quietly, though calmly.

"_What?"_ There was something coming at them, and she wanted her fucking bag? Even if Dean lived to be a thousand, he would never understand the way a woman's mind worked.

"I said to hand me my bag. _Now,_ please."

He swiftly reached into the window of the Impala and fished out her bag. She quickly grabbed it and began rooting around in it, searching for something.

That was when he appeared, mere inches from Dean's face. An emaciated man in an old deep blue uniform with dirt, holes, and blood covering it stood before him. His eyes were a stark and disturbing blue that jumped out from his gaunt, pale face. A short black beard framed his face along with short raven hair. His teeth were rotten, his breath Death Itself, and the look in his eyes was nothing but pure malice. Gripped in his hand was an old Remington musket, the bayonet rusty and red with fresh, wet blood.

Dean had no gun, no salt, no iron, _nothing._ And here was the fucking ghost they were hunting, without a doubt. Why else would it show up here, in front of the man who was attempting to exterminate it? And there was that gun, surely the same one used to kill those three families.

"I want you to run," Dean said to Daily quietly as the ghost stared at him with those freakish icy eyes. "Just run and get out of here as fast as you can."

But Daily did nothing of the sort. Instead, she dropped her bag to the ground and, in a surprising show of strength, shoved Dean to the side and pointed a Luger in the ghost's face. She pulled the trigger without hesitation, and the ghost vanished the instant the round pierced his skull.

Quickly, she tucked the gun into the side of her skirt and looked to Dean with a very set, calm face. "We should leave before it comes back."

"Wait. Did you just use fucking _iron_ bullets on him?" Dean couldn't believe it. He just couldn't. Fucking. _Believe._ What he had just seen. Did this small-town college girl just blast a spirit away with an iron bullet? Like there was absolutely nothing to it?

Now her features furrowed in surprise. "Y-you know about iron?"

"You know what ghosts are weak to?"

"Well…" she looked nervous as she pawed at the ground with her flip flop. "It's just some information that's been passed down in the family…"

"You're family's hunters?" There was no way! The Winchesters knew every hunter in America, and a few in Canada and Mexico. There was no way that they wouldn't have at least been aware of a family.

"No, no," she said quickly. "My grandfather was, and from there, the information was passed down, but none of us really hunt anymore. We just make sure everything is fine here. You're a hunter though, aren't you?"

Dean nodded, and suddenly felt rather guilty for lying to her about being an F.B.I. agent. He scratched his head and gave her a rather coy smile. "Sorry about the lie. My brother and the other guy with us—we're all hunters. So…do you know what's going on? What killed those people in Fountain Green?"

Daily looked cautiously into the woods and said, "Let's talk in the car. I think it'd be best if we teamed up on this."

The elder Winchester nodded, and they sped back into Carthage and to the Prairie Winds Motel, where both Sam and Castiel were waiting for them. Sam was looking things up on the computer and perusing some papers on the table while Cas was watching a rerun of Seinfeld, his head cocked to the side in confusion. Why were people laughing in the background of this show? What was being said and done were funny? The angel knew that he had much to learn about the human perception of humor.

When Dean came in, with the young, curly-haired blonde in tow, Sam looked up to him and the girl in shock. The bitch-face reared its ugly head as he said, "Dean, what are you doing bringing her back here?"

"Can it," Dean snapped. "She's one of us, and we would've both been ganked by that ghost if she hadn't been quick enough."

Daily gave a hesitant smile to both strange men and said shyly, "Hi. I'm Daily."

Cas stood in front of her in an inhuman flash, and the girl flinched in surprise. He scrutinized her with those blue eyes, but she held firm even though he stood a mere two inches from her face.

"You're an angel, aren't you?" she asked.

"Yes. How did you know?"

"I heard your wings when you moved from the bed to here. And they're beautiful."

"Y-you can see his wings?" Sam spluttered.

"Well, yeah," Daily shrugged. "It's a hunter thing. You guys see them too, don't you?"

Cas's frown deepened as his gaze got even harder, if such a thing were possible. "No," the angel said slowly, still thinking. "Only a handful of humans are gifted with the Sight. Yours is hereditary, I see. How long has your family been hunting?"

"Mmm…I'm not sure. The oldest journal we have is from the Second Crusade, but there may have been others before that."

The Winchesters' mouths dropped, and Dean was pretty sure Sammy was drooling. The geek. This girl's family had been hunting since at least eight-hundred and fifty years ago—a hell a lot longer than the Winchesters had.

"I see now." Castiel was completely unfazed by this. "Your ancestors were once blessed with the blood of an angel, and some of its powers still flow through you. Interesting."

"Angel blood?" Sam asked. "How would they have gotten angel blood? And how could it have been passed down all this time?"

Cas finally backed out of the girl's personal space, though he continued to stare at her, as though mentally dissecting her as he spoke. "When human civilization began a couple millennia ago, so did that of the monsters and spirits. God let everything run its course for a few centuries, but then saw that the humans remained largely unable to kill these beasts. Before the humans' population dwindled, God sent down a few archangels to better arm the humans. The archangels selected a handful of mortals around the globe and infused them with their blood, making them much more powerful and wiser. It was then that the first true hunters were born, though it is exceedingly rare to find someone who still has some of the blood of my brothers coursing through their veins."

"Dad'll be thrilled to hear this when I tell him!" she exclaimed. "So do I have any Grace?"

"No. The blood's power has been watered down with each passing generation. You have nothing but a trace amount in your system."

Dean was both fascinated and baffled by all of this information. It seemed as though Dean naturally gravitated to anything supernatural—even his seemingly-normal one night stand women were turning out to be part fucking angel.

What was it with him and angels, anyways? He and Anna had got it on, and now he had slept with this Daily chick, who wasn't an angel but was part of an ancient hunter family and had some angel mojo running through her.

And then there was that whole awkward boner thing with Cas that had happened this mor—

Dean stopped his thoughts right then and there. He was trying to shove that memory so deep down that it would drown in his subconscious and never resurface, but thinking about it was just letting it have air and that just wasn't okay.

Anyways, what the Winchester wanted to know was whether or not his life was ever going to have any semblance of normalcy in it ever again, because every single day, it seemed like he was just taking leaps and bounds away from safe and usual and closer to padded-room insanity.

He cleared his throat to bring a halt to Daily and Cas's conversation about her ancestors. They looked to him expectantly, and he said rather gruffly, "This is awesome, and all, but we should probably find out about this whole ghost thing, first. Just throwin' that out there, though."

"Of course. Sorry for getting so distracted," Daily said quickly. She took a seat next to Sam at the table and fingered through the papers he had on the table. "Broke into the courthouse, huh? Nice." She sighed, frustrated, and ran her fingers through her curls. "The thing is that I knew all of these people. There's absolutely _nothing_ in common between them, besides their family size and that they lived in Fountain Green. The houses are all old, yes, but yet again, nothing devious went on in any one of those or on their grounds at any time. I spent this morning pouring through all the journals we have from the past one-hundred and fifty years, but there's nothing in them about this. There has never been any spirits in this area that kill this way. I'm at a total loss. But all that ectoplasm… There's something very, very wrong here. It's not a natural ghost."

"Then what kind of ghost could it be?" Sam asked, frustrated. He had been hoping that Dean's chick would have _answers_, since his searches had turned up absolute jack shit. They had effectually wasted the entire day on useless research and investigation.

"Well…here's the other strange thing," Daily said slowly. "I don't know too much about this stuff, since our family hasn't dealt with any in a couple centuries, but…there's been signs of demon activity."

All three men's eyes zeroed in on her, and she swallowed. "I take it you guys have, though. There's been crop failings, cattle death, abnormal lightning storms for the past two weeks. And I can _feel_ it, like there's something heavy in the air. I haven't seen them, though. I don't know where they are or what they're doing, but…maybe they're behind this."

"But why would a demon summon a ghost to have it do its dirty work?" Sam asked. "Why go to all that trouble?"

"It's rare, but it's not unheard of," Castiel said. "There are a few demonic rituals that involve the use of spirits, though I am not familiar with them."

"Alright, but we can assume that they're setting up station somewhere near Fountain Green, right?" Dean was in business-mode. He was ready to kill whatever demon was causing this shit and end it now. It always bothered him when children died, and nine had died in just one night. Dean wouldn't be able to forgive himself if any more died because of his inaction. "Let's hit the road. You'll be able to tell if we're getting close to a demon, right?"

Both Cas and Daily nodded, but the girl said hesitantly, "I don't know anything about hunting demons. We haven't had to in centuries."

"Don't worry. Cas will catch you up to speed while we get things ready," Sam said quickly.

* * *

**A/N:** And there's Chapter 2! Next chapter, the hunt begins and we get to the beginning of all the trouble. Stay tuned! It's gonna get intense! Reviews are awesome! :D


	3. Chapter 3: Not Optimum

**A/N:** Hey, there. Sorry for the long wait-time between updates. Snowocalypse, school, and work all kinda caught up with me and this story was momentarily put on the back burner. I know that some people probably don't care for Daily, the OC, and that's fine. She's temporary and will be gone for good after this chapter. She was just a useful and kinda necessary plot device. So if you're iffy about the story because of her, please don't give up because they boys will be parting ways with her at the very beginning of the next chapter. And if you liked her…well, sorry. Happy reading! :D

And a huge, tremendous thanks to everybody who put me on their alerts and the people who favorited me! And the people who were kind enough to review! You all made me smile! Keep it up! It's reassuring to know that I'm not wasting my time putting this up for other people to read lol. Thank you!

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing in this story except for the character Daily. And it's nothing to be proud of lol.

* * *

Chapter 3: Not Optimum

They were on the road in a matter of minutes, Cas and Daily in the backseat while the angel gave her a crash course on demon-slaying in Enochian. The Winchesters were startled to see her nod and reply to Cas in the foreign tongue, but then again, it probably wasn't all that strange since she had angel blood in her.

And suddenly, when Dean looked in the rear-view mirror and saw Daily smile at something Cas had said in his native language, an ugly pang of jealously stabbed at his insides. Not over the fact that the angel had her grinning over something, no. It was the fact that Cas obviously got so much pleasure from speaking to her in his tongue, one that Dean knew nothing of save for a couple exorcisms he had memorized by syllables. The Winchester suddenly wanted to learn the language so he could see Cas's blue eyes light up when _he _said something witty. That this girl they had just met could make Cas so damn happy by just making small talk with him had Dean's insides roiling with envy. And what were they saying, anyways? What was so great that Cas was about to smile over it? The guy _never_ smiled.

That was when the hunter realized he was sounding terribly like an angsty, crushing high school girl and began contemplating the best way to kill Cas, who was the source of the whole damn problem, anyways. If it weren't for him, Dean wouldn't have all this weird feelings that had once been friendship but now were…something foreign and forever nameless. He would never ponder those thoughts or delve deeper into them because Dean was a goddamn _man,_ and everybody knows that men don't think about their feelings.

Team Freewill and tagalong rolled into Fountain Green when the moon was high in sky. Both Cas and Daily were sure that the demons weren't in the village itself, so Dean took the Impala down the rough gravel roads outside the town in random directions, hoping for someone's spidey senses to start going haywire.

Castiel was the first to catch the demonic auras. He directed them down a dead road, one that hadn't been used in so long that it was nothing more than a suggestive dirt path between two corn fields. The tall stalks kept the crew from seeing what lay in wait for them at the end of the road, but surprises were nothing new to the Winchesters.

They came to a stop outside a ramshackle home that had obviously been empty for decades. The small, one story house was leaning decidedly to the right, the windows were gone, and the door was hanging off one hinge. Everything was silent—the crickets were quiet, and even lightening bugs dared not fly here. Sam got out of the car, the metal of Ruby's knife catching in the moonlight.

Dean pulled up the fake trunk bottom to reveal his arsenal and with practiced speed, pulled out the items he needed. He gave Daily a large canteen of holy water and then grabbed a bit for himself before tucking a gun into his jeans.

"Cas, you look out for her, okay?" he said quietly to the angel. He was aware that she was a capable hunter, but she was suddenly his responsibility to protect for tonight, and she had never fought demons before. She had no idea how cunning those slimy bastards could be, and Dean would literally be damned if he let her come to harm.

The angel nodded, understanding in the deep cerulean eyes that stared at him. Something about the moonlight made those blues shine with an other-worldly glint, and it was hard for Dean to tear his gaze away from the other man's.

The four sneaked up to the deceptively quiet house, weapons and exorcisms at the ready, every muscle tense in their bodies. Sam was the first to enter, Dean quickly behind him, the girl sticking close behind him and Cas bringing up the rear. They were standing in the living room, and there were four other rooms in this house behind closed doors. In one of these rooms, or all of them, maybe, were demons in wait, just waiting to spill their blood.

Well, not Sammy's. But everyone else's, for sure.

The group had edged into the middle of the small living room when Cas looked up to the ceiling, and it was the only warning they had before the attack began.

The fight was messy, painful, and drenched in adrenaline, as they usually were. Ten demons in meatsuits had descended from the roof and dropped lithely onto the floor of the living room, those inky black eyes glinting maliciously. Sam was busy trying to kill one that seemed to be only keeping him busy and away from the other demons. Daily was fending off two on her own with the holy water as she recited the Enochian incantation Castiel had taught her on the way over. The angel currently had his hands full against five of the demons. They had him circled, and even though he wasn't all angel anymore, he definitely had enough mojo to take care of these small fries on his own.

Dean, meanwhile, was having a much rougher time of it than the others. The two demons he was fighting appeared to be the leaders and were at least twice as strong as the others with them. Just Dean's luck. The gun didn't do anything but make them laugh, and the holy water managed only to infuriate them. The seasoned hunter had been in enough life-and-death situations to know when he was in over his head, and knew that this time, things would probably not end well for him. All the others were occupied, and he didn't want to risk them getting killed or injured because he caught there attention by shouting for help like a little pussy.

So Dean fought the two with everything he had, all the while knowing that it wasn't enough. He collapsed in a heap against the wall, blood curving down his face from a nasty gash along his hairline and the same red elixir steadily leaking from his side. Everything was blurry from the head trauma and knife to the gut he had just received, and he was only half aware of the two demons whispering in his ear as they picked him up.

"Just a little bit of paralyzing agent on the blade, so you wouldn't squirm around. You're going to be all better in just a bit, honey," she whispered in a soothing coo.

And they were taking him into one of the other rooms of the house, closing the door and locking it, muttering spells to ward off the angel outside. Dean registered that he was lying on the floor, and he assumed that the hazy glow around him was from candles. The demons were speaking and moving hurriedly.

Was he in some sort of fucked up demonic ritual?

Dean tried to yell, to kick, to punch, but his body wouldn't listen to his frantic commands. He was rendered immobile and helpless there on the ground, completely at the mercy of these evil bastards. He could only watch as the two began speaking in harmony in a dead language, their words nearly drowned out by all the commotion in the other room.

Aw fuck. Nobody was going to find him until he had been carved up and served for dinner, judging by the sound of how things were going out there. Great. Fuckin' peachy keen.

The demon in the brunette meatsuit dipped an intricate silver blade into what appeared to a blood-filled chalice that sat on a grim black altar. She turned back to Dean, the dripping knife in hand, and smiled.

"Oh honey, you're going to thank us for this," she breathed.

Dean felt disinclined to agree.

And then she drove the blade straight into his gut and dragged it sideways, tearing open the flesh and nearly spilling all of his innards on the ground. Either the paralyzer was wearing off, or Dean was experiencing a pain that nothing could keep quiet, for he let out a tremendous scream of excruciation. The blood was everywhere, _he_ was everywhere, and Jesus fucking Christ, _why was he still alive?_ The hellhounds and torture in Hell had nothing on this sort of pain, and he wished he could just die to escape it.

The second demon was now coming towards him, continuing the incantation as he used the same knife that had just spilled Dean's blood to cut his arm open. The blood that poured forth was slightly more black than a human's, and the elder Winchester found it goddamn freakish that he could notice such a thing when his organs were half out of his body and he was fucking out of his mind with pain.

The house began to shake and quiver suddenly, and both demons stopped what they were doing and looked around warily. A great light seemed to encompass everything, and Dean hoped it was Death coming to take him away from all this hurt. The demons' screams filled the air as the white heat grew to such an intensity the hunter wished it would go away even if it were Death, and he shut his eyes to the visual onslaught.

And then there was a tumultuous cacophony of sounds and tremors and dust and body parts, and Dean drew ragged breaths as he shook there on the floor, praying to God that it was all over.

When he opened his eyes, he saw a man standing above him, breathing labored, and for a second, Dean thought it was God. The bright silver light that shone around him was warm and comforting, and the massive white wings that spread out from his back spoke of protection, of strength.

"Dean, are you alright?" Castiel demanded, those bright blue eyes of his burning holes into Dean.

Cas knelt down beside him as the eldest Winchester lay shaking like a leaf on the ground, blood leaking from his mouth. He was going to die. Dean had never been surer about anything in his life.

"Do not think that," the angel snarled, assessing the wounds. "You will be fine. I won't let you die."

But inwardly the angel cursed himself. These injuries were horrendous, and though it would usually be nothing for him to heal if his Grace were intact, he was running on empty. The demons he fought previously had seen to that.

Suddenly, Castiel knew what it felt to be mortal—bleak, powerless against the hands of Fate, and utterly full of despair. How was it that humans stumbled through their lives on Earth, weak and inadequate, unable to change the things that desperately needed it? Here was Dean Winchester, his charge, his accomplice, his _friend,_ one of the handful of humans Castiel would gladly forfeit his existence for in exchange for his well-being. The angel had given _everything_ he had to see that this Apocalypse was put to an end, and that the Winchesters would live through it. He had given his family, his Grace, his dignity, _all of it,_ and what had the point been?

Because now, Dean Winchester lay before him dying.

Castiel stroked Dean's hair in a comforting manner as Sam and Daily burst into the room, and Cas could feel the atmosphere drop a few degrees when Sam's eyes fell on his brother and the fear, worry, and anger began surging through the room.

"Jesus, Cas! Do something! Heal him!" the younger brother shouted, on his knees beside Dean.

"I don't have enough Grace to do anything," the angel said softly. "I'm sorry."

Daily said pleadingly, "Castiel, there's gotta be something you can do."

The red blood that ran down her face and arm was brighter than usual, and very faintly it seemed to glow. A sign that the blood of an angel coursed through her, though in small doses.

That was it! Swiftly, Castiel reached for the blade still red with Dean's blood and ran it across his forearm harshly. He propped Dean up and brought the blood to his lips. "Drink," he breathed, urgency making his voice rough and broken. "Drink it or you'll die, Dean."

The angel felt a warm tongue flick against his skin and the sensation made him quiver slightly. What he was doing was easily the most taboo thing he'd ever done, including when he rebelled against Heaven and killed his brothers. Giving a human the blood of an angel was one of the most blasphemous acts one could commit, but Castiel strangely didn't care about that. All he wanted was for Dean to be okay, consequences be damned.

The eldest hunter lapped at the blood weakly at first, as he had hardly the energy to move, but soon the blood began to work its magic, granting power to his body. Dean found this red fluid to be the best thing he had ever tasted, yet it was something that he couldn't fully describe. It was sweet, it was bitter, it was delicate, and almost tasted like the way warm sunshine feels on your face. Dean knew what he was doing was wrong, fucked up beyond all reason, but it tasted so goddamned good, and it was keeping him alive, and if Cas was telling him to do it, surely it couldn't be all that bad, right?

The hunter found himself sucking voraciously on the angel's self-inflicted wound, a hand on Cas's wrist to make sure that he wouldn't move the source of nourishment away. Cas meanwhile put his other hand on Dean's gut and willed his tatters of Grace to heal what it could. It wasn't much, but he managed to seal up most of the horrid gash on Dean's stomach.

It was incredible to see the transformation that took place within Dean in those next minutes—his color returned, he sat up on his own, and his green eyes were shining with a kind of energy Sammy had never seen there before; it was like something new had taken root inside his big brother, granting him the vigor he had been lacking ever since he had returned from the Pit.

Castiel, on the other hand, felt more drained and human than he had in a long, long time. He was pale, and his hands were shaking somewhat when he put a gentle palm on Dean's shoulder, signaling that it was time to stop. Dean didn't stop immediately, but instead suckled and licked the cut tenderly before pulling away, much to the angel's surprise and pleasure.

"Dean! Are you alright?" Sam flooded Dean's view, his face creased with worry, his blue eyes fraught with fear. Those eyes had already had to witness his brother's death once, and he wouldn't be able to handle it if it happened again.

His big brother hadn't felt so good, so_ alive_, since he had come back from Hell. Maybe he had never even felt this light, blissful feeling that had taken root inside him. He was sore—oh God the pain was still terrible—but it was dulled by the euphoria running through him. "Yeah," he said, his surprise showing through in the slight lilt of his baritone voice. "I'll be fine. Go grab the first aid kit, though will ya? We're gonna have to stitch me up before we leave."

Sam and Daily went off to the Impala to grab the first aid kit and reload their weapons just to be on the safe side, leaving the angel alone with the wounded Winchester. It was in the ensuing silence that Dean noticed two things: that the house had completely collapsed around them at some point while he was out of his mind in pain, and that Castiel was gasping for air like he'd just run the New York Marathon. Sweat was beading down his face, and his blue eyes looked strangely more human than they ever had before.

"Cas," Dean said slowly, "are you okay?"

He fixed his charge with a stare. "Yes. It's been awhile since I've used that much Grace and I need to rest."

"What happened to the house?"

Dean watched the angel break their gaze as he hesitated for a second. He looked down into his lap as he explained, "When I heard your scream, I…panicked. I let out a little bit more power than I meant to in my haste."

A pain twisted in his gut that had nothing to do with his wounds. Cas had used up all of his precious angel juice to save him—fuck, he had given Dean his _blood,_ and an ample amount of it. Yet again Castiel had done the unthinkable to save him, and it tore Dean up to know that this superior being was so willing to go above and beyond for him when he didn't deserve anything of the sort.

"Cas—"

"Dean," the angel cut him off with a steady stare, his breath finally even again. "You are my charge. It's my duty to protect you and ensure that you and your brother stop the Apocalypse. I'll do whatever is necessary to see it through."

"Yeah, I know that," Dean said quietly. "But the blood you gave me… You can't tell me that's not against the rules."

"There's not much that I do that isn't against the rules these days," Castiel sighed. He looked back to Dean, and the relief and happiness in his blue eyes were unmistakable. His tone lightened slightly as he said, "Now rest. The blood is making you feel better than you actually are."

"You're the one that should be resting," Dean argued. "You pretty much single-handedly saved everybody's asses. Again." When the angel didn't even move, let alone show any signs of agreeing, he shifted topics. "What was up with that ritual those demons had me in?"

Worry creased Castiel's brow. "I'm not sure."

Sam and Daily returned then with the first aid kit and Sam began to work on stitching up the rest of Dean's gash on his stomach. It was deep and there was no anesthetic to be found, so Dean unfortunately would have to rough it. When Sam poured the fifth of whiskey onto the wound to sterilize it, it was all his big brother could do to keep from screaming and instead clench his jaw shut. Because screaming was for girls, and Dean Winchester was going to take this like a man.

So when his little brother poured another splash over the wound just to be cautious, even Dean was surprised when his hand sought for purchase and, of its own accord, seized Castiel's firmly. Dean was too lost in pain to fully realize it, except for the fact that something warm and reassuring had ahold of him. He focused on that warmth and comfort, not its source, as the needle worked its way in and out of his flesh, pulling him back together again. Castiel looked down to the hand in surprise, but made no move to break the mortal's hold of him; he knew that Dean needed someone to rely on right now to help him through the pain, and he would do that. Sam was too busy playing doctor to notice the interaction between the two men's hands, and Daily was scoping out the rest of the house to make sure nothing evil was still lingering behind for them.

"There," Sam said after a while as he knotted the end of the fishing line-turned-stitches and cut them neatly.

"Thanks, Sammy," his brother said, and then tried to sit up. Castiel's restraining hand was on his chest in less than the blink of an eye, and it was then that he figured out what a gaping hole in his gut meant—no sitting, no walking, _nothing _until it was healed.

Dean sighed in irritation—the thought of having to be babied for at least a week drove him crazy, but there wasn't all that much he could do. Sam, the mother hen that he was, probably wouldn't let him lift a finger unaided until he was healed. And Cas would probably be just as girly about the whole thing.

The blonde reentered what had been the bedroom before Cas had leveled the house. "Coast's clear. Let's get back to the motel," she said, a smile on her face.

Castiel moved to ease the elder Winchester to his feet as gently as possible so as not to aggravate the very tender wound, and when Dean sought something to lean his weight on to stand up, it hit him that he was already holding onto something.

His and Castiel's hands were intertwined—and they had been for well over twenty minutes now. How hadn't Dean noticed? Once he was on his feet, he leapt away from Cas as if he had been burnt by his touch and instead leaned on his brother. Sam still hadn't noticed the odd interactions between him and angel, but Castiel shot Dean a look of confusion before quickly averting his gaze. Dean ignored the sorrow he felt when he lost the reassuring warmth of the angel's hand, because it just wasn't right to like holding a guy's hand—an angel's hand, or whatever—and he was feeling lost because he had all but died a few minutes ago.

The fact that he felt just a tiny bit emptier without the angel's touch had absolutely nothing to do with it.

Daily clambered into the backseat first and then Sam gingerly got Dean into the car so that he was stretched out in the back with his head in the girl's lap. The other two men got in front, and the car ride to the motel was a quiet one that took much too long for Dean's liking.

For the briefest moment as Daily ran her fingers through his hair affectionately, Dean envisioned that she was nowhere to be found and that in her stead was none other than the angel with the captivating, ethereal blue eyes.

And in that second, his heart felt a longing so fierce it seemed as though he would be torn apart by it.

* * *

It had been a week since that Thursday night, a week since Dean Winchester's life had taken a turn for the absolute worst. It was funny, but before all of that Fountain Green stuff had gone down, Dean would have said that his life couldn't have gotten any worse. He knew now that he was sorely mistaken.

He started noticing the changes two days after the fight with the demons. The first one made its appearance Saturday. Sam had taken the Impala to find some dinner while Dean was left on the bed watching Dr. Sexy. It was a very dire episode—Nurse Wendy was in a love triangle with Dr. Sexy and the new intern Zeke, but little did she knew that Zeke had a rare disease that left him with only two years to live. The heartache was palpable, and Dean felt as torn as poor Nurse Wendy did. The logical choice for her was Dr. Sexy, though. Naturally—the guy's freakin' name was "Dr. Sexy." Why the hell _wouldn't_ you pick him?

He suddenly jumped when a soft rustling filled the room, reaching instinctually for the loaded pistol he had on the nightstand, assuming a demon had found their whereabouts. But a nanosecond after the quiet sound began, it ended and Castiel stood in the middle of the hotel, looking at him and the gun bemusedly.

"Did you just hear that?" Dean asked.

"Hear what?"

"I don't know, like…a rustling? Like leaves or something?"

"No." The angel fixed him with a cautious stare. "Did you hear my wings?"

"There's no way I can hear your wings, genius. I'm a mortal, remember? It must've just been on the tv." Mentally, Dean shook himself. He must've been hearing things, because there was no way he would be capable of hearing such a thing. He was just a human.

The next change was that same night as well. After Sam had dimmed the lights and gone to sleep, Dean still lay in bed for hours, just looking at the ceiling. Though he should have been worn out from the stress his body had been under for the past few days, he felt nothing but restlessness.

Dean hadn't slept since then.

Monday was when he first started noticing changes in Cas. Or well, changes in himself that made it look like Cas had changed, or whatever. When Sam had turned off all of the lights in the hotel room before he went to sleep (and Dean pretended to), Dean had at first grown perplexed when there was a strange white light coming from the corner of the room. He sat up in bed and couldn't hide the wide-eyed shock on his face when he saw that Cas was glowing like a fucking _light bulb_ with silver light. Luckily, he had managed to shut his mouth and close his eyes before the angel noticed his very obvious gawking, because that would have been supremely awkward.

As the days progressed and the elder Winchester had more time to inconspicuously study Cas and his strange glow-in-the-dark tendencies, he formed several conclusions. Firstly, the light would change depending on the angel's mood—it would get painful if he were angry or defensive, and it would grow soft and comforting if he were happy or consoling. It was kinda nifty because it was like a permanent and easily displayed mood ring for the angel, but then it was absolutely heinous because _Dean was reading an angel's emotions by the way he fucking __**glowed**__._ How much weirder could his life get, seriously?

So far these were the only differences Dean had noticed, but his stomach felt like that one time he had had some bad tacos from a sketchy Mexican restaurant, which meant that he had more problems ahead of him. Or food poisoning.

When Sam and Castiel woke up the next morning, Dean went through the motions of stretching and yawning and the usual morning routine. His babysitters had both agreed the previous night that he was finally healed and they could therefore leave Carthage to never, ever return. They would be sad to say goodbye to Daily since she was a great hunter and a genuinely nice girl, and God knows Cas had absolutely loved being able to chat with her in all those weird Angel languages, but it was well-past time to get out of there and move on to the next hunt. Castiel had heard through the angel grapevine a few days ago that there was a vampire nest in down in Alabama that was getting just a little too thirsty.

Daily stopped by their motel room to say her goodbyes as they were packing up the Impala, a heaping plate of what smelled like freshly baked sweets and a homemade apple pie in her hands. Sam was quick to take the plates from her and scope out everything while Dean carried out the last duffle bag and tossed it in the trunk.

"Hey! How are you feeling?" the girl asked, giving the elder Winchester a friendly hug.

"Brand new," he replied as she stepped back.

She was beaming at his full recovery as she stepped back from him. "I'm glad to hear it! Oh, and that pie's just for you, so tell your brother to quit drooling on it."

Dean shot a look to his younger brother, who guiltily looked up from the pie and to his brother with a defensive look.

"Were you trying to steal my pie?"

"Look, I don't see why we can't share."

"So you think it's okay to take a pie from your brother who just about died a few days ago?" Dean was playing the guilt trip card. Why? Because pie was involved, and there were few things he wouldn't do for a completely made from scratch Dutch apple pie.

He was so distracted with his teasing Sammy that he nearly missed the quieter conversation going on behind him, and it seemed to come to him more in his peripheries while he bickered.

"So how's he really doing?" Daily asked Castiel quietly.

"The stab wound is completely healed, but he's been acting differently. He hasn't slept since Saturday, and I have the suspicion that there's more he's not telling me or Sam. He gives me the strangest looks sometimes, like he's baffled by me. And he seems to be sensing my presence. He knows when I am in the same room, he knows when I'm looking at him."

"Have his hunting senses grown that strong out of experience?"

"Such a thing isn't possible for a common mortal," Cas dismissed. "Were you able to find any information within your ancestor's journals?"

"I found several that fit the bill, but they all had different purposes. I made copies of them for you." She handed him a simple red folder and he began inspecting the contents with a furrowed brow. "I hope my handwriting's okay. I've never had anything to compare my Enochian to. But Castiel, whatever that spell was, it was serious. The demons had something big in mind when they did this. You need to be careful around him until you know what they did. If they managed to complete the ritual before you saved him…you may have an abomination on your hands."

By now, Dean had successfully snatched both the pie and the plate of cookies, fudge, and homemade candies from his very upset, pouting brother and had watched the angel and the girl in shock. How could they just talk about him like he wasn't even there? About serious shit like this? He was like five feet away from them, tops. And did Daily say he could be an abomination?

"What do you mean, an abomination? And Cas, have you been _spying_ on me?" Dean growled.

All three people looked at him, mouth agape. Even the angel had a stupefied look on his usually stony mug, and Daily looked like she was just a little bit scared. Sam just looked baffled.

"Dean, how did you know what we were saying?" Castiel asked slowly, as though he attempting to talk down a jumper.

That was probably the stupidest question Dean had ever heard. "Uh, because you were standing right in front of me when you were talking?"

"We're not speaking in English. And neither are you," Daily said.

"Yeah, okay," Dean said, not believing any of their gall for a second. "So tell me what we're 'speaking' in."

"Enochian," they said together.

And Dean promptly shit himself. Metaphorically, of course, because otherwise it would have just been a horrendous moment and manhood ruiner. But still, that's a spot-on description of how shocked he was. He had heard their conversation as if they had been speaking English, and he had replied as if he too were speaking in his native, and only, tongue. He knew a smattering of Spanish (tequila, hola, gracias, and Santana), and enough of Latin to piece through spells and exorcisms.

_Since when was he fucking fluent in Enochian?_

"What changes have you experienced since the night of the hunt?" Castiel demanded.

"None—"

The threat that was laced into his calm, gravelly voice was entirely unmistakable. "If you lie to me, I will hunt through your soul to find the answers."

"Jesus, fine!" If there was one thing Dean hated, it was when he was manhandled into admitting his problems by an overly nosy, obsessive angel. "I can't sleep anymore. I'm just not tired at all. I've been hearing your wings, and you glow all the goddamn time with this silver light. And it gets hotter when you're mad—like right now, you need to turn down the wattage or I'm going to go blind. Just take a breather or something. Oh, and apparently I know Enochian, for whatever reason."

And then there was the all-too-disconcerting urge Dean had suddenly developed to be near the angel, to touch him, to hear his handsome voice. But since he was still staunchly in denial of said urges, he would rather have Castiel tromp painfully through his being than admit out loud in front of his brother that he might be gay for an _angel._

"This is not optimal," Castiel muttered. He shifted his dagger-sharp stare from a pissed-off Dean Winchester to the papers in his hand.

"Is it the angel blood you gave him?" Sam asked. He knew from experience the effects blood could have on a person, and perhaps his big brother just needed to detox and he'd be fine again.

The angel shook his head as he withdrew a leaf from the folder, and in that instant he appeared wearier than the Winchesters had ever seen him.

"The blood I gave you was the final ingredient to the spell the demons were performing on you."

"What kind of spell was it?" demanded the younger Winchester.

"Demonification," Daily whispered.

Dean blanched. _Demonification?_ He didn't want to say the words that came out of his mouth next, but he would never be able to live with himself if he didn't know the answer either. "You mean I'm a demon now?"

"No. Demon blood would have been required for that." Castiel looked up to him, and there was a guilt large enough to cause a tidal wave within those cerulean eyes that would swallow the poor angel up, never to be seen again. "You are making the transition from mortal to angel as we speak."

Only one thought could come to Dean Winchester's scrambled, insanity-riddled mind.

_Jesus. Fucking. Christ._

_

* * *

_

**A/N:** So…how'd you like it? I hope you found it enjoyable. I felt a little iffy about the middle of the chapter, but I felt bad for waiting so long to update, so I just decided to throw it up here without rewriting it. I will try to update as soon as I possibly can, but it's hard to find time to write when you've got 20 credit hours and a job, y'know? I promise not to give up on this story until it's done though, so fear not! I will never just drop this story because I really like it. There wasn't a ton of Destiel in here, but I promise much more in the next chapter. *hint hint, wink wink* Maybe a little bit of wing! action, among some other things.

Ooh! And interesting fact time! Carthage and Fountain Green are both real towns in Illinois. I grew up in one of them and I have family living in the other. They're about 20 minutes away from each other by backroads and 35 by highway. Write what you know, right? The house the fight took place in is actually a real one a few miles outside of Fountain Green, and you really do have to take an abandoned road to get to it. It's really beautiful in the fall, when it's surrounded by fields and stuff. And the Prairie Winds Motel really does exist in Carthage, right on westbound Highway 136.

Reviews might help me write quicker! (^_^) Do you think that my chapters are too long? Do you think I should cut the next chapters up into a bit smaller pieces? Please let me know! Thanks for reading, and take it easy!


	4. Chapter 4: How About a Little Sojourn?

**A/N:** Hey, guys! I'm back! First off, let me just say thank you all _soo much_ for all of your reviews, alerts, and favorites! Each and every notification I got was like a little burst of happiness shot straight into my veins! I know I didn't thank you all personally as I should have, and for that I apologize. So here's your thanks right here! :D

School was terrible to me this week-three exams and a four page essay on the "no-self" theory of Buddhist philosophy. And on top of that, I had a killer sinus infection! I also had to stop and decide what I really wanted to do with this story half-way through this chapter. So, sorry for how long it took me to update, but here it is. I hope you all enjoy!

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing in this story and am making no profit from this story. I just write it so I can put off doing homework.

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Chapter 3

How About a Little Sojourn?

Dean did not suddenly sprout wings and grow a hunk of Grace. It seemed that angelification was a gradual process, which was just fine with Team Freewill—they needed all the time they could to stop and reverse this. While the Winchesters focused on taking out the vampire coven in Alabama, Castiel tried finding out more about the spell and possible ways to reverse it.

Too bad he was making absolutely zero progress.

"Cas, there's gotta be _something_ about this somewhere!" Sam exclaimed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. The angel had just flown into the motel room where the younger brother sat at the table, avidly searching on his computer for answers to Dean's dilemma. Dean was out questioning the locals to find out more about their prey.

"Contrary to what you boys think, I am _not_ a fount of knowledge," growled Castiel, his lips in a thin line of displeasure. "I want to stop this as much as you do, but it's not as if I can just stroll into the libraries of Heaven and research. I therefore am travelling all around the world in search of any and all manuscripts and books that can help us. There is not much else I can do."

And Sam knew that he was telling the truth, and he felt guilty for being so hard on the angel who was obviously busting his ass, but he couldn't stand the fact that his brother was losing his humanity more and more with every passing second. Even though they were both searching whenever they could, the lack of results made it seem like they weren't trying hard enough.

"I have checked every resource I can think of on Earth, but there is no record of a mortal transforming into an angel. And because we don't know much about the spell except how to cast it, we have no idea how powerful Dean will become. He could become a cherub—" Both Castiel and Sam cringed at the thought, "—or perhaps he could even become an archangel."

_Archangel,_ Sam thought. They were some powerful bastards, completely terrifying, really. Raphael had lightning for wings in his human manifestation and just his appearance had caused the entire Eastern Seaboard to lose power. Michael was a ruthless creature that cared nothing for the Winchesters' plight or the fate of humanity. And Gabriel was the most manipulative, sneaky dick ever to walk the planet, and if Sam ever met him again he'd swipe Castiel's knife from him and promptly run the archangel through with it—

Sam was still having issues with the one hundred Tuesdays and TV Land.

But could he really be blamed? Maybe the Trickster had had good intentions when he forced Sam to live through that enraging time loop in which he had had to watch his brother die in _every_ way imaginable, regardless of what he did to prevent it, but that didn't change the fact that Sam had been very badly scarred by the whole ordeal. Nobody was supposed to watch their brother, their closest companion, die before their eyes—not even once. Sam had had to see it one hundred times in the dream, and twice in real life. Normally, that amount of pain would have driven a person to insanity.

Instead, Sam had vowed to slaughter the Trickster in the most vicious, heartless way imaginable. Which he told himself was entirely healthy.

So when Sam and his brother had caught wind of some very mysterious cases of deadly just desserts a few months ago, Sam had been completely ecstatic. It was almost a little scary that the man was downright giddy at the thought of torturing the demigod.

But he should have known that catching, torturing and killing the Trickster wasn't going to be as easy as it had played out in his fantasies. From the moment they drove by the town welcome sign, he had captured them and thrown them into his illusions. He had Dean shot, made Sam stitch him up, had Sam hit in the jewels, and then—the cherry on the fucking top—turned Sam into the Impala. That day, he had been more violated than he had ever been in entire life. How many brothers know what it feels like to have their big brother inside of them, pressing buttons and twisting things and pressing things and—

Jesus Christ, the _nightmares_ it had given Sam made him want to drink a gallon of bleach and then come back for seconds. And thirds.

So yeah, it was safe to say that Sam Winchester wanted Gabriel dead, salted, burned, and spread into the wind at a lonely crossroads, just to be thorough.

"Sam? Are you listening to me?"

The younger brother was kicked out of his churning, livid ruminations by the blue-eyed angel before him. "Sorry, what?"

"I said that there is one person who might be able to help."

Sam jumped at the idea and he perked up considerably. "Who?"

Castiel hesitated; he had sensed the mortal's caustic thoughts just now and knew that he wasn't going to like what he said next. "…Gabriel."

"What would he know about angelification?" Sam snapped, proving Castiel's assumption true.

"He is the Angel of Truth, and knows much more than I do. It would probably be wise to contact him."

The younger brother was loathe to have anything to do with the Trickster, but there was nothing he wouldn't do for Dean, and it appeared that Gabriel was their last shot at finding a cure. "Fine," he ground out. "I don't care."

Castiel gave him a nod of thanks and then vanished, presumably to gather the things they would need to summon the archangel. Sam was left sitting at the table, staring down at his hand. Seeing Gabriel and not killing him would be the most difficult thing he had ever done, but if it meant that it could save Dean's humanity, he would find a way.

* * *

While his brother and Cas were doing their own things, Dean was out and about on the search for the vampires' lair. Eight girls had been snatched from one bar within one week's time and none of them had been seen again. Nobody seemed to know anything helpful though, and after an entire day of fruitless searching, Dean plopped down in a stool at the bar and looked to the bartender beseechingly.

She turned to look at him, a ready glass in her hand. She was short, with a perfect hourglass figure and long raven hair that hung to the middle of her spine. The tight purple tank top she wore accentuated her ample curves and on a scale of hotness, she was easily a nine out of ten. But what Dean found more captivating than her rockin' body was her bright cerulean gaze. There was something so wonderfully familiar and comforting in those eyes that Dean felt as though he could sink right into her and stay there forever.

"You look like you could use a drink," she said astutely.

And apparently she was a mind reader, to boot. "That's an understatement, honey," Dean replied, forcing a tired smile onto his lips. He didn't even feel like smiling anymore. He gladly took the mug from her and knocked it back, savoring the bitter taste of temporary happiness. How had his life spiraled so out of control so fast?

Well, first there was the whole "Got dragged down to Hell in pieces by hellhounds and became a heartless monster that tortured souls and in doing so started the Apocalypse—oops" thing. That was a major setback to his life, but Dean had come to terms with it for the most part. And then there was the "I'm addicted to demon blood and maybe I kinda summoned Lucifer—my bad" thing he had going on with Sam. That was tolerable. Shit happened, and Sam had shown vast improvements since they had killed Ruby and had him detox in Bobby's panic room. Next came Cas's arrival and the, "Dean, I pulled you from Hell because God wants you to do some stuff—thanks in advance," bombshell, which was one hell of a thing to try and wrap your mind around even when you were dead sober. At first Dean had thought it would be sort of like the Blues Brothers "on a mission from God," but there were less catchy song numbers and insane high-speed chases involving the entirety of the Chicago police force, and more bat shit crazy dickhead angels giving shitty orders and near-death encounters with demons. Overall, it was abysmally disappointing.

And then the real kicker, "Oh yeah—I kinda forgot to mention this, but since you guys are always screwing around in supernatural shit and you both fit the bill spot on, Michael and Lucifer are gonna take over your bodies and duke it out—winner take all, all being the world," came out to play. That was like a ray of sunshine in Dean's life. So from then until now their lives had consisted of trying to find a way out of letting these crazy fuckers in their bodies to destroy humanity. Cas had even gone AWOL and began fighting with them at the cost of losing his Grace. Dean didn't really understand why; it's not like _he_ was going to be able to stop the damn Apocalypse. He would never understand why the angel so easily believed completely in him.

Dean had seriously been under the impression that there was no possible way for their situation to get any worse, but that idea was shot to hell when he went to fucking Fountain Green a week ago and those demons there had sprung "Oh hey there, we're just gonna put you under this spell and then _fuck your life up five ways from motherfucking __**Sunday**_by botching said spell and making you turn into a goddamned _angel—_hope you don't mind or anything," on him. And this had changed everything.

Now there was no way that Michael could use him as a vessel because he wasn't entirely human anymore. This was a definite plus for Team Freewill, but it was about the only positive thing about the whole situation. Sure, becoming a celestial being would _seem_ awesome, but Dean liked being human. He liked getting drunk, he liked sleeping with women, he _loved_ greasy bacon cheeseburgers and pie, and he sometimes _needed_ the rush he got during hunts when he realized that he was mortal and that there was always a very real chance that he would die tomorrow. The elder Winchester wasn't ready to forfeit his weak human existence by any means.

The whole not sleeping thing he had now was as annoying as it was nice. It was great never to feel fatigued, but it was horrible to sit around and wait for Sam and sometimes Castiel to wake up. He usually had nothing to do but sit and think, and Dean had never been the kind to ruminate over things like a ninny. Knowing Enochian was about as cool as it was unsettling. It was convenient when he didn't want others to hear what he was saying, but it was completely freaky to know that he suddenly _knew_ a language. Cas told him it was because he was subconsciously listening in on Angel Radio, and that sooner or later he would actually be able to hear all the angels talking. Friggin' awesome. Voices of dickheads in his head forever. Dean just couldn't wait.

He had gotten better at reading Castiel's glow too—he could now notice its subtle nuances and distinguish more detailed emotions. He had been spending a great deal of time with the angel since Fountain Green, because what else was he going to do with all of his time awake? Dean found that he deeply enjoyed being around Cas. They had spent several nights sitting outside their motel room just talking in Enochian about anything and everything; it turned out that Cas was a bit more of a chatterbox when he was in his native tongue, and he was even funny sometimes. Castiel told him about what it was like in Heaven, what his jobs had been there, his favorite brothers, and his least favorite. The elder Winchester secretly loved those nights and looked forward to them because these conversations seemed to fill a void within him he had never been aware of before now. When he talked with Cas, sitting near that warm, content glow he seemed to have only when it was just the two of them, Dean felt something big and satisfied well up within him. That pleasant something remained nameless and unstudied, however, because…well, Dean just didn't want to think about its implications in the slightest.

All in all, Dean had been taking the whole turning into an angel thing pretty well. There had been a definite spike in his alcohol intake, but he was still the same old Dean Winchester. For now, anyways. The way Dean saw it was that if he were going to have to change into something inhuman, an angel was probably the best option. Almost any other outcome involved needing to eat people, and he had never really fancied human flesh or blood all that much. And there were definite perks that would come with angelification—he would be able to fly at supersonic crazy speeds (though Dean had already firmly decided that they would still drive everywhere in the Impala, because he would _never_ desert his baby), he could zap demons with his mojo to kill them (much more convenient than long incantations in dead languages), and he'd be a general badass.

But Dean Winchester was already a badass, so there wasn't much change there.

He had just polished off his sixth beer and was really making headway with Cassie the bartender when Castiel chimed into his thoughts, the surprise making him grip his beer tighter for just a second.

"_Dean, I need you to return to the motel as quickly as possible,"_ the angel rumbled in his native language.

"_Is it important? I'm kinda busy right now."_ Busy undressing Cassie with his eyes. Oh, yeah!

"_All you're doing is imbibing malt beverages and looking lustfully at a young woman,"_ Castiel dismissed, not bothering to hide his displeasure.

"_Yeah. That makes me busy. What do you want?"_

"_Sam and I may have found someone who knows how to cease your angelification. We are prepared to summon him and are waiting for you, but if you are as _'busy'_ as you say, I shall leave you to your business."_

Okay, so maybe Dean wasn't _that_ busy. Though he truly did regret tearing his eyes away from those brilliant blue orbs of hers. What was it about them that had him so enthralled? He was still puzzling over the enigma as he gave her a generous twenty dollar tip and a seductive smirk. He picked up the napkin with her phone number on it and headed for the Impala. As he drove back to the motel, he wondered what Cas's problem was. He had seemed distinctly upset when noticing that Dean was hitting on that bartender. Maybe he and the angel had grown a bit closer since Fountain Green, but that didn't mean that Cas could get pissed if he were talking a girl. He and the angel had gotten closer in a platonic, totally not-gay way over the past few days. There was no blossoming bromance between them, even if they maybe held hands that night when Sammy stitched him up. And that one time a few nights ago they had sat up on the roof a motel and just talked with each other all night, laughing and grinning and slowly edging closer so that they were shoulder-to-shoulder, until then the sun was coming up and it was time to start the day—that meant absolutely nothing.

Right?

The Winchester had chalked Cas's sudden upset up to anxiety over the impending end of the world by the time he parked the car in the motel's parking lot. He was already undoing his tie when he came into the motel; Dean hated the F.B.I. suits his brother said that they absolutely "needed" for their hunts, and he was under the impression that Sammy secretly loved to play dress-up and that was the only reason he forced his big brother to wear such ridiculous getups. Castiel and Sam were at the table, one serious looking spell cooked up on its top.

Sam nodded to his brother in greeting, and Dean didn't miss the way Castiel was careful to take absolutely no notice of his entrance. The angel looked like he'd just taken a roll in the nearest puddle of radioactive goo—the guy was _pulsing_ with hot silver light and Dean had to look away from it after only a few seconds. Castiel was definitely not happy about something, and the elder Winchester had a feeling that that "something" was none other than himself.

"Who are we summoning?" Dean asked as he changed into his usual wardrobe, desperate to break the silent tension that only he could feel, what with his whole new mojo thing.

Sam was the first to reply, and his voice was bitter as he said curtly, "Gabriel."

"The Trickster? What would he be able to do?"

Castiel found himself unable to look away from the not-so-mortal mortal as he unbuttoned and then removed the white dress shirt he had been wearing all day. As he watched the man move with a lithe, subtle grace to pick up a black t-shirt and watched his muscles ripple underneath his sun-kissed skin, Castiel was simply amazed at how a person who could be so far from perfect could be entirely flawless all at the same time. What was the phrase he had heard one of the brothers say before? A diamond in the rough? It seemed a fitting way to describe the man before him, who on the outside was nothing but gruff, stern, and overall sinful, but who on the inside had nothing but a heart of pure gold and who secretly was just as compassionate as any good angel of the Lord.

"Cas? Hello? Why are we summoning that bastard?" Dean asked.

Apparently, the angel had been more intent on Dean than he had thought. "I believe he might know something. We've exhausted every other resource and he is our last option."

The elder brother nodded in understanding. He was fully dressed now, and Castiel felt a little sad over it. He was getting more and more emotional as his Grace slowly faded, and it was incredibly unnerving and alien. He disliked it very much because he was usually at a loss as to what he should do when these strange urges overtook him. When he saw that Dean was conversing with that bartender, something had grown heavy and hot inside him, and it was not at all pleasant. He had the sudden urge to smite this innocent, although promiscuous woman, and that had scared him. He was a good angel, and in all the centuries of his existence Castiel had never wanted to kill the innocent. Why was it that ever since Fountain Green he had felt so…possessive when it came to Dean? Perhaps part of it was the guilt he felt for bringing this terrible fate upon the poor man. If he had just had more Grace, healing Dean would have been a simple trick and he would still be completely human. If he had but known about the spell, maybe he could have found another way to save him that didn't involve his blood.

Or perhaps Castiel was feeling territorial over the elder Winchester as of late because of the extra time they'd been passing together? Since they had made the realization of Dean's transformation, Castiel had been roaming every corner of the world, perusing every single nook and cranny in search of _anything_ that could help stop the terrible spell. From sunup to sundown he flew and searched, but at nightfall he would return to wherever the boys were staying and there, he and Dean would talk long into the night while his little brother slumbered. Castiel found these nights peaceful, enjoyable, and some of the best times he had ever had in his extremely lengthy existence. He had never really bonded with any being before, besides when he fought beside his siblings in conflict, but that was an entirely different thing than what he shared with Dean. It seemed that each night they talked, they managed to get closer and closer to each other, until one day there would no longer be any secrets or distance between them.

Castiel silently prayed that that day would come very soon.

But now was not the time to muse on such subjects. There were more important matters to attend to.

Sam took the vase of holy oil and poured it in a wide circle on an open spot of the motel floor and then stepped back, drawing a lighter out of his pocket. Sam gave Castiel a nod, and with that, the angel began the intricate incantation that would summon the archangel to them. He dropped the twig of gum myrrh into the small pyre and green flames shot up. All three men looked to the center of the room expectantly, and then very quickly all looked away in shock and horror.

There was a faint pop that announced the appearance of their target, and there he was, a couple beads of sweat curving down his cheek, his golden hair a slightly darker hue as though he had just gotten out of the shower. He was on his hands and knees on the ground, his olive eyes wide in surprise.

Apparently, nobody had expected the Trickster to materialize before them wearing absolutely nothing, and in the middle of a very intimate act, the Trickster especially.

"Aw, c'mon guys! I put a tie on the door knob and everything!" Gabriel exclaimed.

"Jesus!" Dean muttered, not only looking away from the sight but also covering his eyes just to be thorough.

Sam, who had been stunned at first, snapped back to attention at the sound of his brother's voice and dropped the lit lighter onto the oil, and a ring of holy fire formed around the archangel in the blink of an eye.

Gabriel looked up at him then, and molten honey met sharp hazel. The angel's eyes were still tinged with lust, but there was something else in his gaze that Sam couldn't quite place straightaway, something that sent an overly pleasurable shiver from his toes to his scalp. For posing as a janitor, the Trickster was incredibly well-built. From his pronounced pecs to perfectly round ass, the archangel was a picture of perfection. And to say he was well-endowed would be an understatement—

Was Sam checking Gabriel out? No. _God,_ no. It was just a quick, very thorough glance. Definitely nothing more.

The angel rose to his feet and with a snap of his fingers, he was dressed in jeans, a t-shirt and a simple dark green jacket, a Snickers bar in hand.

"First you interrupt my private time with Veronica, and then you shove me in a ring of holy fire? I've gotta say, you know how to welcome a guy," he said, a calculated smile on his face. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Gabriel," Castiel said by way of greeting. There was an unmistakable reverence in his voice as he spoke to the archangel—even though he had deserted his post centuries ago, he was still a very powerful and very respected angel.

"Cassie, how's it goin'? I see you're turning more and more human every day. Shame." The angel turned his gaze now to Sam, who visibly tensed. "And Sammy boy, how've you been? You're looking better now that you're off those demon blood cocktails you insisted on." Before Sam could shoot him a vicious retort, Gabriel looked away from him and to Dean, who was still staring at the wall with his eyes covered firmly. The angel cocked his head in confusion. "I'm wearing clothes, now. You can look."

"You are way too bright," Dean growled. "You're like a fucking bolt of lightning."

For once, the grinning façade fell from the Trickster's face and was replaced with high-browed surprise. Since when could any mortal see his aura? With a touch of concentration, he minimized his aura so that it was about as dull as Castiel's and Dean relaxed.

"_That_ would be why we summoned you," Sam said dully. "My brother is becoming one of your brothers."

"Run that by me again?"

So Team Freewill brought Gabriel up to speed on Dean's predicament. Needless to say, the archangel was completely blown away by the whole thing. Throughout his entire existence, no human had ever been turned into an angel. And that Castiel was so willing to forfeit his blood to save the Winchester's life showed how deeply he cared for Dean in a way that the humans wouldn't understand. Giving angelic blood to mortals was strictly forbidden unless the order came from God Himself; it defied the natural order of things to give the mortals something so powerful. Even if the Apocalypse ended, Castiel would never be allowed back into Heaven after committing such an atrocity. He would just be hunted for eternity and put to death if captured. The fact that because of Castiel's blood Dean was now losing his humanity and was no longer a suitable vessel for Michael would also catch him Hell. Gabriel never really saw the big deal about giving blood to the humans who deserved it, but the rest of Upper Management was a bunch of stuffy traditionalists.

"So, that is what transpired," Castiel summed up. "I have searched the world looking for a way to reverse or cease the transformation but have been unsuccessful. Is there anything you can do to help?"

The archangel rose to his feet from his cross-legged position in the ring of fire, his arms crossed as he scoured his memories for anything that would be useful to the Winchesters. Despite this, he still asked, "What makes you boys think I'm willing to help you?"

"We know you want the world to end and whatever," Dean said curtly, "but that can't happen unless Michael has a vessel. So if you even want there to be a chance of your brothers fighting it out, we've got to get me back to normal."

Inwardly, Gabriel conceded that he had made a fair point. He motioned for the big brother to come closer, and Dean did so with caution but had to stop at the flames. The archangel looked pointedly at Castiel and the angel put the flames out. He knew that the Trickster's curious nature would no longer allow him to leave until he also had gotten to the bottom of Dean's unfortunate curse.

"Lay down on the bed, Deano," the boy-faced Trickster said. "You're not going to like this too much."

"Whoa, whoa! Just what are you going to do to me?" Dean demanded.

Gabe sighed dramatically. "I just don't see why you guys can't trust me. It's not like I've done anything _too_ terrible to you. If you really must know, I'm going to shove my fist into your soul and look around to see how much of it has changed. I hear it's pretty painful."

Dean shot Castiel a questioning glance. While Gabriel's toned down aura seemed to exude no mischievousness or malice, the Winchester had no idea whether or not it was possible to cloak one's real emotions, but if anybody could or would, it would definitely be the archangel before them. Dean trusted Castiel's opinion of Gabriel, trusted his opinion on everything, really. The angel sensed this, and gave the man a reassuring nod of his head, and that was all Dean needed to set himself to ease about the whole thing.

"Gabriel, if you hurt him in any way—"

"Chillax, Sammy," the archangel cut in gently. The worry, rage, hate and wispy shadows of mistrust that surrounded the younger mortal in a heady miasma were threatening to knock the angel's mojo off-kilter. Nobody pulled off angst like a Winchester. The fact that Sam held so much unbridled contempt for Gabriel hurt the angel somewhere deep and dark, like the sting of a wasp. He had done a lot of pretty terrible things to that human and his big brother, but didn't they realize by now that it had all been for _their_ benefit? Maybe it hadn't really seemed like it to them at the time, but it's not as if they were stupid—they were actually some of the smartest mortals Gabriel had ever met—and the archangel had been under the impression that sooner or later, they would come to their senses and see that he was just looking out for them, in his own messed up, sadistic way. No, instead they both looked at him like he was some kind of two-timing lowlife they wouldn't trust farther than they could throw, and not like the badass, super powerful and awesome archangel that he was.

Didn't Sam know that all the games he had played with them were for him especially?

A little bit of that unacknowledged anguish leaked through Gabriel's voice as he said quietly to the younger Winchester, "This will cause him pain, but this is the best way for me to find out how much he's changed."

Sam let out a long, slow exhale through his clenched jaw, but did nothing else to object.

Taking this as the all-clear, Gabe leaned over the elder brother and unceremoniously thrust his hand into the man's chest. It sank in as smoothly as butter, but the way Dean clenched his fists and a barely concealed scream tore through his locked jaw stated otherwise.

"Shh," the archangel muttered distractedly. "You're taking this much better than I thought you would."

Fishing through souls was a lot like blindly trying to stab someone while submerged in total darkness—Gabriel didn't know if he'd hit the right spot until he sunk his hand into it, and it definitely was doing Dean a hella lot more harm than it was him. The archangel had always hated reaching into creatures like this, but not because of the pain it caused the other. It was actually because his senses and Grace were so barraged with the creature's essence that it was a sensory overload. Every moment of Dean's life since birth played through the Trickster's head simultaneously and the angel felt all of the Winchester's accompanying emotions as his life played at warp speed behind Gabriel's olive eyes. He felt like he had just been thrown into a tempest of sorrow, regret, frustration, pain, self-loathing and rage, and it took a considerable amount of willpower to keep his Grace from coming out to soothe the bitter wounds of the Winchester's being just so the poor angel wouldn't feel so fucking overwhelmed by it all.

As stated before, nobody pulled off angst like a Winchester.

Describing a soul is never an easy task, since there is really _nothing_ like a soul, but if Gabriel had to, he would say that souls were like soup, and the variety depended on the type of creature. Animals generally felt like stew—they weren't incredibly thick because they weren't all that complicated, but they had chunks of potato-like emotion and carrot-like instincts along with meaty morsels of vague memories.

Humans, on the other hand, were more closely like a thick, intense bowl of clam chowder straight from the shores of Maine. Their souls were so rife with baggage that you almost needed a knife to cut through it all, and their beings were littered with hunks of garbled up, clammy emotions, with massive bits of potato-ish feelings, and the whole thing was seasoned with the pepper and salt of their memories. It was horrible. Gabriel hated clam chowder.

Egg drop soup was what most closely resembled an angel's soul, Gabriel supposed. Since an angel had limited emotions, their souls were fluid and light, like simple broth. The memories and emotions of the angel constituted the tofu and bits of green onions. But what really made egg drop soup _egg drop soup,_ and what consequently really made an angel _an angel,_ was that bit of egg yolk that the chef so carefully drizzled over the delicate broth in the final seconds of cooking, that Grace that truly distinguished an angel from every other being in existence. You couldn't have egg drop soup without the egg, and you certainly couldn't have an angel without its Grace.

So when Gabriel's fingers suddenly left chunky, boggy chowder and began traipsing through smooth liquid egg drop, he nearly gasped at the stark contrast. Apparently, there was no mixing of soups allowed in this establishment. Here, the raucous memories and emotions barreled to an abrupt stop that was nearly as jarring as when they had been playing full speed in Gabriel's head, but the reprieve from it all was a welcome blessing. There was more chowder than there was soup, which was a good thing, but it was easy to feel that there was a lot more soup than anyone wanted there. The chef had just begun to drizzle the egg yolk in slo-mo and there was an undeniable trace of Grace steadily growing and taking root within the Winchester.

Having found what he needed, Gabriel carefully withdrew his hand and Grace from Dean's body and the mortal's entire body slumped into the sheets and his screams died down to gasps for air.

"Forget the Apocalypse—you guys have enough angst in you to start a black hole," the archangel sighed.

Sam gave him a look that clearly said, "Now is not the time for your stupid remarks; just tell us what the hell is going on before I douse you in holy fire." Castiel held a similar look. And poor Dean was too shaken to do anything but shiver on the bed like a PTSD patient.

The Trickster ran a hand through his shaggy brown locks and couldn't help the sad chuckle that escaped his lips. "You're not going to like anything I have to say."

"Say it anyway," Castiel growled.

"Whoa, calm down there, bro. Just trying to prep you guys so you don't torch me with holy fire when I get it all out." His voice turned from jokingly palliative to quiet and serious. "Deano here is definitely climbin' the Stairway to Heaven as we speak. His soul is still about sixty percent human, which is good news for you. The bad part is that his soul is forty percent angel. And he's growing what's probably going to be an impressive amount of Grace once the transformation is complete."

"'Once it's complete?'" hissed Sam in outrage. "Are you saying there's nothing you can do? That you're just going to let him keep changing?"

The olive-eyed man shot the younger brother a cold stare, and a slight shiver passed through Sam as he realized that this was an _archangel_ he was talking to. Sometimes the whole short, cute Average Joe disguise he wore detracted from the fact that he could smite an entire fifty mile radius with a simple snap of his nimble fingers.

_Cute?_ Did Sam Winchester really just use the word "cute" as a way to describe the Trickster?

No. No he most certainly did not. Because that would be awkward and…definitely not true. Yeah.

Seeing that the feisty mammoth-sized Winchester had remembered exactly how ridiculous it was for him to snap at him, Gabriel continued calmly, "You aren't left with many options. I would say let's just take a hacksaw to that angel part of his soul, y'know, amputate and all, but I'm assuming you guys would like Dean better if you didn't have to hold a drool cup to his lips the rest of his life, even if that means he has to sprout feathers.

"The next option is pretty damn easy—just let him become an angel. I mean, what's not to like?" Gabriel spread his arms out emphatically, but Sam just rolled his eyes. "Really, it's not that bad of an outcome, when you think about it. Your beloved big bro is gonna be super strong, super hard to kill, and he's guaranteed to have the upper hand in just about every brawl you chuckleheads wind up in. And he'll be great at parties."

The three vicious glares he received from the men in the room were a resounding "THAT'S NOT AN OPTION." So Gabriel sighed. "Okay, and…there's one other option. Maybe. But it's gonna be practically impossible and I'm not even positive it'll work."

"What is it?" Dean rasped from the bed, his face still red from the pain and exertion he had just gone through.

"Are you boys familiar with a poet that went by the name of Dante?"

"Dante Alighieri? Of course. He wrote _The Divine Comedy_," Sam said quickly, "but what does that have to do with anything?"

"You know that demon, Malacoda, that he bumps into in the Eighth Circle?"

"The demon in charge of the Eighth Circle, the only embodiment of Truth to be found within existence. He punishes those who have committed fraud," Castiel murmured. "Why is this of import?"

Gabriel smiled a knowing smirk. "Well, Cassie, as the embodiment of Truth that he is, I have heard that a bit of his tail when eaten will revert the eater into their true, original selves."

"So let's get some tail!" Dean said, grinning at his brilliant choice of words. Really, if he had known that all he had to do was eat a bit of some demon's gnarly tail to get rid of this whole angelification thing, he wouldn't have broken a sweat over it once. He was already feeling better about the whole deal. Normally, he would have held a much more cynical view on what Gabriel was proposing, but his mind was probably still addled by the thorough scrambling Gabriel had just done to them. He was sure the doubt and skepticism for this idea would kick in sometime soon.

Sam shot his brother one of those patented faces that spoke his disdain at his Dean's ability to crack bad jokes at worse times. "But this Malacoda, he's still in Hell, right? Truth can't really just ditch his post."

"Righto. That college education has really paid off, Sammy boy. That bad boy is probably drowning politicians in tar as we speak."

"So…how do you propose we go about procuring this tail?" Castiel asked his big brother.

The archangel looked to Sam, a dancing twinkle in his eyes as a smile twisted his lips. He knew he would probably regret what he was going to say next, but after all the shit he had put these two boys through, and in light of the fact that the show that was the Apocalypse couldn't go on without Dean as its star, Gabriel felt he had little choice.

"Sam, how about you and me take a little sojourn to Hell to visit Malacoda?"

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**A/N:** Another cliffy! haha I do love them! I've got to admit, there's really not a ton of action in this chapter and I have mixed feelings about it, but I'm not sure what I would do differently with it if I were to rewrite it so I decided to post it anyways. I hope you all enjoyed it. My next week isn't very hectic, but spring break is coming up in two weeks and I will be leaving the country (_oh yeah!)_, so there may be a substantial wait for the next installment. I should have time to get the next chapter written and up before I have to pack my bags, but just in case I don't, I wanted to give everyone a heads up so you wouldn't think I dropped the story or anything horrendous. :)

Please oh pretty please leave me some reviews letting me know what you think about this chapter or the story in general! Was Gabriel in character? (He's so hard for me to write sometimes!) What do you think about the whole awkward Destiel thing I have going on? And do you have any sweet ideas for what should happen next? Hell, tell me what your favorite color is in a review and I'll love you til the day I die.

Thanks for sticking around and keep on keepin' on! :D

YummyFoods


	5. I Bet TV Guys' Tummies Sound Like Lions

**A/N:** Hey guys! I'm back. As of now, I've got 55 people that have signed up for alerts to this story! Do you know how happy that makes me? Indescribably! haha so thanks again for everybody's kind reviews and adding and stuff. You've all totally made my day. I tried to reply to every review I received, but if I didn't reply to you, I'm sorry. Thanks again for your continued interest in this story. And thanks to CastielandMexx for reading through this and telling me your honest opinions about it before I uploaded it. You're a doll. :D

I'm not going to lie-when I started writing this chapter, I planned a lot more to happen than what actually did. I wanted the boys to descend into Hell, but Gabriel came in and just kinda wrote himself a freaking soliloquy that took up more than it should've. But I liked it, so I decided to keep it. This chapter is an emotional rollercoaster, so strap in.

**Disclaimer:** I own absolutely nothing in this story. I'm just writing this because I don't want to study for midterms.

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Chapter 5

I Bet TV Guys' Tummies Sound Like Lions Too

"So…let me get this straight," Dean said slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose as he double-checked to make sure Gabriel _wasn't_ actually speaking Gibberish to him, "You're proposing that you, the Trickster, take my kid brother into the bowels of Hell to find one of the most powerful demons _ever,_ cut off a bit of this bastard's tail, and then gallivant back here in time to _maybe_ keep me from going all holier-than-thou on all of you? Since you're not even entirely sure that this thing's tail is gonna fix me?"

The archangel popped a red lollipop into his mouth, smirking. "Bingo."

Dean promptly exploded.

"That's the worst fuckin' plan _anybody_ has ever had in the history of mankind!" he yelled, throwing his hands up in the air. "I'm not gonna just _let_ Sammy go down to Hell! He shouldn't ever have to see what's down there!"

"You say it like he's never going to," Gabriel said lightly. "That demon blood in him is an all-seasons pass, no refunds available."

Dean Winchester was a man who drew solid, unwavering lines between everything that was good and bad, okay and taboo, and it was safe to say that the archangel had effectively went from teetering over the edge of "acceptable things to discuss about Sam" and hurtled himself deep in the heart of the "I'll fucking _end_ you" territory that accompanied it. In under a second, Dean had crossed the room with an impressive show of speed for someone who was supposed to be just a mortal and had shoved Gabriel against the wall, gripping his jacket in his fists. Vaguely he noted the sound of the wall cracking and the delicate spider web-like cracks that now marred the surface behind the angel.

He was mere centimeters from the archangel and his eyes were narrowed, his face a picture of seething malice as he hissed, "You listen here, you arrogant dickhead—I don't give two shits who you are, even if you're an archangel. You talk about my brother like that again, and I'll take Cas's knife and I'll run you through with it."

"Easy there, kiddo," the archangel said calmly. "No offense meant. Now let me go or the neighbors are gonna start to think we like it rough."

It was so hard not to try to kill Gabriel right then and there, but even through the foggy haze of rage that clouded Dean's mind he realized that besides the momentary satisfaction, he would gain nothing if he violently assaulted the archangel right now.

Suddenly, Dean grew very excited to know that if things didn't pan out and he had to grow wings, he'd learn how to smite stuff. He knew already who would be number one on his list when that day came.

That knowledge was what allowed him to loosen his hold on Gabriel and step back, though he was still by no means okay with what the angel wanted to do. It was a sketchy enough idea as it was, but the fact that it had been brought up by the Trickster himself made it a hundred fold riskier. Sammy wasn't going to Hell—Dean wouldn't be living up to his duty as a big brother if he allowed such an atrocity to take place. So what if he had to buy an eternity's subscription to Angel Airwaves? And who really gave a flying fuck if Dean racked up some frequent flier miles when he had downtime? And what did it really matter that Dean would have to watch Sammy grow old and die someday while he himself lived on forever and ever?

It was a small price to pay to ensure that his kid brother wouldn't have to see the horrors that awaited Below. Because once this whole Apocalypse thing was over, that was their next mission—to find a way to purge Sam of the demon blood that was tainting him. And Dean was convinced that they would find a way to do it; if they could put a stop on the end of the freakin' world, he figured there wasn't much they couldn't do. Determined as he was, there was no chance whatsoever that he would stop until he had found a cure for his brother.

Gabriel rolled his eyes as he picked up on the Winchester's thoughts. He had known that things wouldn't go smoothly, but this was getting a tad ridiculous, even for the Trickster. "You boys are both the biggest martyrs I've seen—and trust me, I've seen my fair share," he said dully, fixing the not-so-mortal mortal with a cold, unreadable gaze. "You put up this front, and it's a really good one because even Sam has problems seeing through it sometimes, but these peepers here are special order, and there's nothing they can't see. So listen to this, and tell me if what I'm saying is right.

"I don't need to be an awesome pagan god or archangel to see that the one thing you hold dearest to that big heart of yours is your little brother. I'm pretty sure even Helen Keller could have sensed the vibe you two have. And because of that freakish bond, you two have literally _died_ for each other. More than once. In your case, hundreds of times. You even went to Hell for the kid. And that's admirable and whatever, but it really just means that without each other, you both would be running around like chickens with their heads cut off. It's pathetic. And you are absolutely scared shitless that when you become an angel—notice I said _'when'_ because if you don't let Sam and me do this, it will definitely happen—that Sam will leave. He might go his own way because he feels out of place with you now that you're all holy and winged and whatever, or maybe he'll leave you when he's old and grey and dying of old age. But when he's gone, you will be alone for the rest of eternity. Because let me tell you, my brothers are _not_ going to welcome you to Heaven with cake and a fancy banner. They're going to hunt you because not only have you been the reason for a lot of trouble up there, you'll also be an abomination, an unnatural creation and an insult to their righteous creed.

"So, let me just sum up your future if you don't give your little bro permission to help you out: First, you're going to lose Sam. Then, you're going to spend the rest of your existence alone and on the run until you are found and killed.

"But, here's the other way things could pan out for you," Gabriel continued, his tone going from somber to bright. "You could suck it up and quit being a selfish baby and let me and your brother go, you could have a nice demon tail stew, probably go back to being blissfully human, and you and your brother could live full, happy lives. I'll even throw in some rainbows, puppies and children's laughter in the background just to make it a proper happy ending for you. Now compare the two. You're a smart guy."

The archangel's words felt almost like a stab to the heart, and the terrible pang it caused within him made Dean's hard, angry expression fall from his face to be replaced with a blank, distraught stare. Fucking angels, always looking into your soul and seeing everything you _didn't_ want to admit was there. Even now, the thought of Sam leaving him or—God forbid—dying of old age before his angelic eyes evoked a feeling that felt like a kick straight to his stomach, the kind that makes you cough up blood afterwards. The being hunted didn't really bother the elder Winchester so much, but the idea of Sammy…

Dean had to clear his throat before he spoke again, and even then it was still rougher than normal. "I want to come with you then."

Gabriel's olive eyes lightened at the small sign of progress that he had made with his Grammy deserving monologue, but he said simply, "No can do, Deano."

"Why the hell not?" he demanded.

"Didn't you spend forty years or something down in the Hole? You'd think you'd know by now that demons have a sixth sense when it comes to picking up whiffs of Grace. And since you have no idea how to control your grace and we don't have the time to hold your hand and teach you, all you'd do is get us killed if you came."

"Well then why can't Cas come with you? For more manpower."

"Hello?" the archangel said simply, fixing Dean with a rather condescending frown. "Cassie's losing his mojo more and more every day. He's not fit to go down there. It'll drain him of what Grace he has left so fast he won't even know what hit him. And besides, someone's gotta stick around you and make sure you don't smite a town or something by accident."

"But why _Sam?_ The kid just got over the whole demon blood thing," Dean asked quietly. He knew that putting Sam in Hell would be like throwing an addict into an opium den, and they had worked so goddamn _hard _to get him clean—Dean would absolutely break if he knew that he caused Sam to get hooked again.

Again, the archangel seeped into his mind and saw the man's worries. "I'll be with him to make sure things don't get out of hand," he reassured. "And yes, I'm a powerful, all-knowing badass, but nothing but Pops himself or Lucy could make it down to the Eighth Circle by themselves. Nobody but Sam can go with me—he's the only human that could survive down there. I guess that blood of his isn't all bad."

"And…how sure are you that this Malacoda's tail is gonna fix me?"

_Forty-five percent?_ "Eighty percent." Gabriel believed wholly in rounding up whenever possible.

"And while we're talking about this tail, what exactly did you mean when you said it'd change me back to my 'true, original' self?"

Here was where things got tricky. See, the catch to this whole Malacoda's tail thing was that…Gabriel really wasn't sure what he was getting the Winchesters and by extension himself into. A few centuries ago, he had heard gossip from a god who heard from a goddess who heard from a demon that her cousin's brother was seeing that since Malacoda was nothing but straight up truth in the highest concentration possible, a bit of him would be enough to change a person into their true selves. What that meant exactly, Gabriel hadn't the foggiest.

But Gabriel was an all-knowing, self-proclaimed badass/archangel/Norse god, and there was no way in Hell he was going to let on that he was clueless about something so pivotal, so he said, "Well, since no one's ever been angelfied before, it's not guaranteed that this will work, but if it does, it could work a few different ways. First, you could turn back to the same old Dean that Sammy knows and loves—the one that goes for easy women, cheap alcohol, and loves his car more than any man has a right to. Or, maybe it'll change you back into an infant, since that would be your true, original form, in a way. Or—"

"Whoa, wait!" Dean put up a halting hand, his eyebrows nearly lost in his hair they had shot so high. "A baby? You're telling me this tail thing could turn me into a freaking toddler?"

"I'll be sure to give you a nice rattle," the archangel consoled.

This idea was sounding worse by the minute. The elder Winchester sat debating which would be more terrible—watching his brother die of old age before his eyes, or knowing that his _little_ brother would be changing his diapers and teaching him how to walk. Dean thought he'd rather be a badass dick with feathers than have himself be forever humiliated by the fact that Sammy would be raising him.

"Don't get your diaper all in a bunch yet," Gabriel smirked, picking up on the hunter's panicked thoughts. "If worse comes to worse and you're a newborn, I'll just zap you back to adulthood in the blink of an eye. No opportunity for smelly diapers or awkward burping sessions and spit-up."

This lightened Dean's mood up considerably, though it also raised another question. "If you can make me grow up in the blink of an eye, why can't you just turn back the clock on me until before those demons put this spell on me? That seems a hella lot easier than you two stomping through Hell."

"Aging you only deals with your body, but taking you back in time would do nothing for your soul, which is what is undergoing the change."

Well damn. Having given up on that idea, the Winchester asked, "And what was the last possibility?"

Years of honing his senses to notice even the smallest of details was the only thing that allowed Dean to pick up on the nearly imperceptible way the archangel broke their eye contact for a nanosecond. "Sorry, but there's only two doors to pick from in this contest," he said smoothly.

"Bullshit," Dean said eloquently, fixing Gabriel with a hard stare. "If you could mention the 'I could turn into an infant' outcome like a weather forecast, just what the hell are you scared to tell me about?"

Man, but these brothers were some of the most annoying mortals he had ever meddled with. Gabriel inwardly sighed and wondered why he had stupidly chosen to get involved with them in the first place. It had led to absolutely nothing but trouble for the Trickster ever since, and things were just getting worse and worse as the days went by.

The archangel's existence used to be blissfully carefree. He could kill whichever sinners and troublemakers he wanted without having to worry, _'Are those damn Wankchesters going to come shoving a stake through me again?'_ Gabriel liked his "lessons" to be over the top and flashy, and it really put a cramp on his style to have to watch was he was doing.

And then those stupid (alright, they technically weren't stupid, but just a monumental pain in the ass) boys had gone and figured out that he was an archangel. As if the whole having to tone things down wasn't bad enough, this really took the fucking cake. Before, when they had thought that he was just a Trickster, they would only try to kill him with those flimsy wooden stakes that really only tickled. But now that useless Castiel had to go and give them the hint about his true identity that led Sam and Dean to figure out what he really was, now they could seriously hurt Gabriel. They couldn't kill him—he was an archangel after all, but they could still seriously injure his Grace with holy fire or some spells if he pissed them off bad enough. Now he had to tiptoe around these brothers.

And Gabriel was a fucking archangel of God. "Tiptoeing" wasn't in his dictionary. Before he deserted his post, he was the Messenger of God, he was a righteous, smiting _warrior._ And after he left his digs above and got a place of his own in the Norse realm as Loki, he reinvented himself as the badass trickster that killed nasty people with cruel irony. There was nobody that stood in his way, nobody he had to respect or tread lightly around, but here he was, fucking _tiptoeing_ around these two mortals.

It was incredibly frustrating. Why he didn't just kill them when he had first met them he didn't rightly know. It would have been incredibly easy, since there was literally only about a handful of entities that could stand a chance against Gabriel, but something had kept him from finishing them off. Sure, he had known from the day Pops turned the lights on that these two boys would be the harbingers of the End of Days, but what did he really care for the rules and regulations of Upstairs? He had ditched them millennia ago—so raining on his family's Doomsday parade didn't bother him all that much.

Over the millennia, Gabriel had viewed these boys merely as vessels, as a means to an end and nothing more, because there really were few spectacular humans out there. Every once in a while the archangel would chance across a human that was truly amazing and that made him stop and realize just why it was that his Father had chosen them over the angels. Humans were wonderful and terrible in that they were crazy as fuck and always did the things you really thought they wouldn't, whether it be for the best or worst. When Gabriel encountered Joan of Arc and watched that young woman rally the French to win the Hundred Year War, he was simply overwhelmed by the power this weak teenage girl possessed. The ability humans had to overcome, to persevere even in face of the most extreme obstacles, had left him awestruck.

And when Gabriel had witnessed Hitler rise from a lowly soldier to become a man so charismatic and cunning that he could convince his entire nation that mass genocide was the answer to all their problems, as he saw the ashes of the oppressed fall to the ground like snow, as he heard the anguished screams and cries of the millions who had lost _so_ much because of this insane man's ideals, he had become so overcome with sorrow that he wept. The weight of the world's plight and the fervor of that man's malice had hit him harder than any blow could, and Gabriel was forced to acknowledge the other truth of man—that whilst there were inherently good people in the world, there were also mortals so dark and twisted that, in their haste to dive into Hell, managed to unleash it on the living realm.

The archangel was fascinated with and sometimes terrified of the depths to which human emotions and determination could go. Though angels had steadfastness practically super glued to their Grace, they rarely had enough resolve to change anything major in their lives. Just about the only one that tried to change things out of determination had been Lucifer, and look what had happened to him because of it. And yeah, Gabriel had definitely altered his life significantly when he ran away from home and officially became a renegade, but deep down there was a large, self-loathing part of him that knew that he hadn't done it because he had wanted to change himself—he had merely wanted to get away from the fights. He had just wanted to run away. And run he did.

So when he first met the Winchester family, he was largely unamused by their apparent lack of character that he had assumed the vessels of Michael and Lucifer would have. Sam and Dean were but children at the time, and Papa Winchester was out and about trying to figure out what manner of monster would kill a corrupt, embezzling banker by making him eat coins until he literally exploded all over his ornate study room (Gabriel had absolutely _no_ idea who would do something so ironic and wonderfully thought out, but it most certainly wasn't him. He was just a temp janitor at that bank, don't you know?).

Anyways, he was finally granted entrance into the motel room by a very distrusting nine-year-old Dean Winchester, who even then had a bit of a bad-boy attitude when it came to addressing anybody but his father. After making sure the tv suddenly went black the night before, Gabriel had cleverly infiltrated the motel under the pretense of a tv repairman. Once inside, he pretended to fiddle with the back of the tv while carefully inspecting the boys who would later grow up to house two of his very own brothers as they fought for the end of the world. It was almost surreal, but Gabriel really had seen too much in his long existence to be able to call anything that anymore.

The archangel-in-secret watched as the older brother surreptitiously spied on him while flipping through a car magazine. All the responsibilities the boy had were already weighing heavily on his soul, and it made Gabriel just a little sad to see someone so young forced to grow up so quickly. It just didn't seem fair, really. Dean was a good kid—the angel could see that clearly by the way his soul shimmered and glowed radiant light that nearly warmed the room. There really wasn't a bad bone in his body. All he cared about was making his dad proud and protecting his kid brother. Those two things were his top and only priorities in life, but they were so strong that they threatened to crush him. Such a shame.

And then there was Samuel, who had awoken from his nap when Gabriel came in. Only four years old, with a mop of shaggy blond hair that made it clearer than day that he had no mother to care about giving him a good haircut every once in a while. Those hazel eyes of his were bright with the wonderful energy that was childhood, yet even at this young age there was no mistaking the hint of darkness that swirled about behind that light in the depths of his gaze, the taint of Azazel's demon blood that would start the Winchesters down the long path to the Day of Reckoning.

Peering into the toddler's soul revealed that this boy was a near exact opposite of his brother already, and the Trickster was somewhat surprised by it. Didn't children try their hardest to emulate their older siblings at this age? This boy seemed to be everything Dean wasn't; the older brother was already a realist, while Sam remained an optimist about everything. Dean loved his Dad with everything he was and would undoubtedly follow him to the ends of the Earth, but his little brother didn't understand why Dad left all the time or why he never trusted his sons enough to give them information about what he was doing. And Sam was frustrated by the fact that his life wasn't anything like the lives of the children he saw on tv. Why didn't Dad have a regular job? Why didn't Dean go to school more? And why were they always moving? And what really intrigued Gabriel was that this four-year-old wasn't asking himself these questions because he was just a child—the angel could tell that this boy had the intellect of freaking Einstein—but because he legitimately didn't see the sense in the way they were living.

This was when Gabriel realized the cosmic irony that surrounded these boys and fate. They were mirror images of his own brothers Michael and Lucifer, in their own rights. It was stunning, really, and if he hadn't been so disgusted by the fact that these _children_—perfectly good, sweet children—would be growing up to end the world as everyone knew it, he would have been able to appreciate the beauty of it much more, and maybe even congratulate his dad on the brilliance of it all.

Sam made his way over to his brother, who was currently reclining on the other bed. "Dean, I'm hungry."

Dean's brow furrowed and he said in apology, "We ate the last of the cereal Dad brought us last night. We're just going to have to wait until he comes back later today."

"But _Deeean,"_ the younger whined, his shoulders slumping in agony, "my tummy sounds like a lion, and you know how dangerous lions can be!"

While the big brother tried to argue gently with the younger and to get his mind (unsuccessfully) off of his hunger, Gabriel seethed behind the tv. What the hell kind of shitty father doesn't leave enough food for his kids when he leaves to go kill dangerous monsters? Feeding your kids is Parenting 101. Even birds with brains the size of peas realized how important it was. How could this guy call himself a dad?

With ease, Gabriel popped into Sam's mind and found out his favorite kind of sandwich, and then with an infinitesimal bit of Grace conjured up a loaf a bread, some nice sliced deli turkey, cheese, and mayo in the small kitchen in the corner.

"You sure there's not anything to eat around here?" he asked, smiling. "I was sure I smelled bread when I came in here."

Sam eagerly ran to the kitchen and was amazed by the food he found in the fridge waiting for him. Dean shot the archangel a quick scowl of suspicion, but said nothing as he crossed the room and made his little brother and himself a sandwich.

"Can you please make me another one?" Sam asked his brother politely.

"You never eat a second sandwich."

The little man leaned closer to Dean and cupped his hand over his big brother's ear as he stage-whispered, "Just make me one, okay?"

Dean sighed but did as he was told, and Gabriel was surprised when a couple minutes later the toddler with the tousled blond hair was standing before him with the sandwich held out in offering.

"Here," Sam said, wearing a smile so bright and carefree that Gabriel couldn't believe there was anything but goodness in him. "I bet tv guys' tummies sound like lions sometimes too."

That was how he had first met the boys that would later give him so much trouble. The odd thing was that despite all the Hell he had caught from the Winchesters since then, he looked back on that day as one of his favorites. Even then, he had seen something in Sam's soul that spoke to him, that resonated with something deep inside him. The angel had no idea what _that_ was exactly, and he wasn't entirely keen to find out either, but all he knew was that even though these boys would grow up to do some pretty terrible apocalyptic things, that they were honest-to-Dad _good people,_ the kind that made the archangel humbled by humans' powers.

Maybe that was why he had tried so hard to reach those boys, to make them see the errors in their ways before they strayed too far off the path and jumpstarted something that he really only half wanted. Sure, Gabriel wanted his family to quit fighting and to get along finally, but he also hated the thought of them dying. He wasn't sure which was worse, really. And he didn't _really_ want to see those boys lose their lives because his idiot family couldn't get their shit together, but after millennia of bickering and arguing over who was right or wrong, Gabriel had had enough. He was _tired_ of everything and he just wanted it all to end, regardless of if the outcome was paradise or damnation for everyone.

And this was how he wound up here in this empty motel room with Dean, who was now barely half human and almost half angel, trying to convince him that it was, in fact, a good idea to trump into Hell with Sam like it was no one's business to find one of the most powerful demons ever, engage it in a life or death battle for one of its appendages, and then feed it to Dean in the hopes that it would _maybe_ change him back into a mortal.

"Hello? Earth to Gabriel? Jesus, man, if you were human I'd swear you'd just gone into a sugar-induced coma," Dean snapped. The angel had been standing there for a good minute, just twirling his lollipop in his hand while he stared unseeingly at a nearby wall, and Dean had some goddamn important questions to ask and there just wasn't any time for dicking around with this asshole.

His reverie ended, the archangel looked back to Dean. "Sorry, but you wouldn't _believe_ what the couple over in Room 119 are doing. I'm not sure even _I_ could get myself in that position."

The elder Winchester rolled his eyes. Now was so not the time to discuss the sex lives of strangers across the motel. Or the fact that this archangel was abusing his God-given powers to become some sort of freaky voyeur. "Look, I asked you what the other possibility was, if I eat this tail. You said I could turn back to normal, or a baby, and you never told me what else."

"Oh. Yeah, that," the Trickster shrugged, feigning disinterest. "It probably won't happen, but…there's a teensy chance that you were meant to become an angel, which would mean that the tail would do absolutely nothing except give you a bad case of the runs."

Dean couldn't believe what had just come out of the angel's mouth. "Y…you're telling me that there's a one in three chance that after all the trouble and danger you'll be putting Sammy through that this damn thing might not even work?"

"Pretty much, yep. But I wouldn't worry about it too much if I were you. Dad's had it written in his diary for forever—literally—that it's going to be you and your brother as my brothers' meatsuits. And take my word for it; the guy's not really the type to change his mind about things."

Still, the idea of putting Sam in such a risky situation for naught made something nasty roil inside him. Like hell he'd let his brother go down there just to have it not work! He wouldn't be able to live with himself if he asked him to make that choice.

"You're the most annoying person I've ever had the misfortune of meeting," Gabriel ground out. His arms were crossed and if there hadn't been a pissed-off archangel inside that body, Dean would have said that he looked like a petulant child, especially with the candy in his hand.

"Yeah? Well you're the most ridiculous, convoluted fuck I've ever had to deal with," Dean shot back.

"I could smite you, you know." And his thoughtful tone coupled with dancing Trickster eyes really proved it.

Dean gulped. There was no doubt that he was badass, and there was likewise no question that he had enough bravado to choke an elephant, but when you're being strong-armed into compliance by an archangel, there really is a limit to how far you can push your luck. The dangerous glow that was lurking behind Gabriel's grinning façade served to prove that Dean was definitely about to cross lines that he would very much regret.

"He—he's my brother, Gabriel." The badassery was gone and in its wake was nothing but quiet admissions and a silent, underlying plea.

The archangel sighed and rolled his eyes. He understood full well how torn Dean was over the whole thing. If Gabe were given the choice of either watching his brothers grow old and die or selfishly sending them on a suicidal mission to Hell, he would have a tough time deciding too. Was he going to admit that? Of course not. Instead he said dryly, "I must be losing my touch. It would seem that you boys still haven't learned what I've been trying to teach you since day one—you two are so obsessed with each other that it'll end you both. You want to keep little Sammy safe, and that's sweet and all, but if you don't let him do this for you, you'll lose him for good."

"And if he goes down there and he doesn't come back because of me—" Dean cut himself off, stricken at the very idea of it. "I wouldn't be able to live with myself."

"Y'know, he's not jumping into the Pit by himself. And those demons aren't going to harm him—remember that Lucy needs him just as bad as Mike needs you? Besides, he's gonna have me there, and I can almost guarantee that I won't let anything happen to him."

The Winchester looked up to Gabriel, sharp emerald meeting cool, irritated olive. "Then promise me."

"Sorry, what?"

"Promise me that you won't let anything happen to Sam down there." Dean looked down on the archangel with a steady, strong stare, his voice firm and unwavering.

Gabriel shot a beseeching look up to the heavens. _Daddio, give me the strength I need _not_ to smite this stupid man right here and now,_ he begged. Because he was just about a millimeter away from a simple snap of his fingers and no more Dean. Tempting, but it would end up rather counterproductive.

After silently counting down from ten, the archangel looked back to the not-so-mortal mortal with barely concealed disdain. "Fine. I promise to babysit little Sammy while we're away. And I will do everything within my power to keep him from coming to harm." Gabriel was more than a little disgusted with himself. He had existed since the beginning of time as one of the strongest creatures ever, and here he was promising one mortal that he would become another's keeper. Fucking Winchesters.

Dean heaved a heavy sigh. He by no means felt good about sending his brother down to the depths of Hell, but knowing that he would have Gabriel there to keep him safe offered a measure of reassurance. "Thank you," he whispered.

"Yeah, whatever. I better get paid better than minimum wage for this."

* * *

A few hours after Gabriel made Dean see the light, the brothers Winchester, the archangel and Castiel were congregated in the same motel room. Both Dean and Cas watched Sam pack a light bag somberly while Gabe boredly watched a rerun of Casa Erotica.

Sam wasn't really paying attention to what he was putting in the bag; he just knew that he needed to keep busy so he wouldn't be as able to think about what he was preparing to do. Going into Hell was really no simple daytrip, no matter how lightly Gabriel put it. Of course, as soon as Gabriel had offered to take him down there, Sam had agreed. If it meant saving Dean, he would do anything. Even if "anything" meant teaming up with the angel he hated most to trek through Hell in search of a terribly powerful embodiment of truth. The way Sam looked at it was simple—Dean had gone to Hell to save him, so this was merely returning the favor.

Was Sam scared? Shitless. Was he worried? As Hell. But he had absolutely zero doubt that what he was doing was the right thing. All he had to do was think of Dean, and he knew that he was fine with going to Hell for him.

So when he looked up from the small bag and met Dean's pained expression, he too felt hurt. Dean thought he was being selfish. Dean thought that he didn't deserve to be saved from becoming an angel. Sam wanted to tell Dean that that was complete and utter bullshit, but yanking on Dean's feelings and pulling them into the open in such a vulnerable time would do nothing but lead to fighting, and that was pretty much the last thing he wanted to do before he left his brother.

Instead, he gave his big brother a small, brief, but genuine smile. _Don't worry,_ it said, _let me take care of things for once._

And Dean looked back at him with a frown that said, _How can I _not_ worry? You're going to Hell for me._

Sam needed to leave, needed to escape from that sorrowful, pained face that was still begging him not to go. He looked to Gabriel, who was still fixated on the screen. "I'm ready."

"Got your jammies? Extra pair of undies?" Gabriel checked, sounding like the mother of a six-year-old.

The younger brother grit his teeth and fought back a bitingly sarcastic reply. "Yep," he ground out.

"Don't worry," Dean whispered in Sam's ear, "we'll kick his ass when you two come back."

Now _that_ sounded like a plan. Sam grinned appreciatively.

"You chuckleheads done with your heartfelt goodbyes? In case you haven't noticed, the Apocalypse is still on and we're kinda burning daylight while you stare at each other like two lovesick teenagers."

Both Winchesters shot Gabriel a murderous look, but the angel merely grinned, unperturbed. Dean looked back to his brother, his brow set seriously and he said lowly, "Just be careful down there, Sammy." _And please, for the love of God, come back safe._

Sam nodded in understanding. "Just don't use your mojo to mess with my stuff."

"Psh." Dean rolled his eyes, that cocky grin he wore best on his lips. "First thing I'm doing once you leave is turning all your clothes into skirts and dresses."

"Jerk," Sam grinned.

His big brother didn't miss a beat. "Bitch."

"Cas, make sure my idiot brother doesn't smite a town or something while we're gone," Sam said lightly, looking to the angel who stood beside his big brother in silence.

Castiel looked from Dean to Sam, his brow furrowed in solemnity. "I will have no way of controlling Dean's Grace, but I will attempt to stop him if such a catastrophe should arise."

And the younger Winchester nearly laughed out loud. Even the face of all the downright crazy shit they had to deal with, the people he cared most about were still the same. Sam knew that he would come back from Hell to find his same brother (just a little more angely than before) and same angel (just a little more mortally than before), waiting for him. He took solace in his fact and held it close to him, knowing that later he would need the reassurance he felt now.

"Well, catch ya later," Gabriel said lightly, and with a snap of his upraised fingers, he and Sam abruptly vanished.

But rather than appearing before the gaping maw of Hell or something similar, Sam found himself and the Trickster in what appeared to be an empty apartment.

"Is…is this Hell?" he asked slowly. "I imagined it more…hellish."

"Lucifer just got done remodeling before you sprung him from house arrest," Gabriel quipped. "Actually, we're just in an apartment in Manhattan. There's still a couple more things we've got to do before we can make the descent."

"What?" The youngest Winchester was hesitant—just what did they have to do that they needed to leave Dean and Castiel first?

Gabriel smirked at the man's distrust, because he was right to be wary of the archangel right now. He said calmly, "I need you to drink this—" what appeared to be a milk jug filled with something too thick to be sangria appeared in one of his hands, "—and then I've got to kill you."

Sam's throat went ablaze the instant that jug burst into existence. Even though it was sealed away in that plastic container, he could still smell the irony, bitter yet sweet scent of it and he was suddenly barraged by the need to swipe it from the Trickster and guzzle it down like a man dying of thirst. And at the same time, he was absolutely revolted with himself, with this filthy need that shook his resolve.

"Why—" Sam had to stop to force himself to swallow. "Why do I need to drink that? And why kill me?"

The angel sighed. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately, he noticed glumly. He truly felt bad for making sweet Sammy do this, but there really was no other option if they were going to do this and count of it in one piece. "I told you and your brother that you would be fine to go down there because of the demon blood in you. Which was only halfway true. You've got enough to get down there, but not enough to sustain your soul for the amount of time we'll be there. You'll be worn away to nothing within a week as you are now. And no living mortal can go to Hell, idiot. Dante was dead when he went but an angel brought him back to life afterwards. I already spoke with Castiel and he's going to keep you on ice or something until we get back."

What Gabriel was saying made perfect sense to Sam's logical mind, but the emotional part of him cried out in anguish. Dean would never have allowed them to go to Hell if he had known that Sam would have to relapse, or that Sam would have to be killed, albeit temporarily. Sam could remember the look Dean had given him when he realized what his little brother had become addicted to, how he had become an abomination to mankind and the sort of thing that they hunted and killed on a daily basis. He'd never be able to forget how his brother had looked at him in complete crestfallen disappointment, and he knew that if he had to endure that look again, he would simply break into a zillion pieces.

"Sam, Dean doesn't have to know about this. That's why I took you somewhere else and conveniently forgot to mention it to him." The Trickster felt like he had just been run over by a steamroller of guilt. He didn't want to make Sam choose like this, and he didn't want to watch the poor guy lose more of his humanity, but this was really the only way.

Sam's hazel orbs were dancing from the jug to Gabriel and back as he hesitated. _This is for Dean,_ he told himself over and over again. _And what he doesn't know won't hurt him._ He crossed the room and with shaking hands took the demon blood from the angel. He took off the lid and instantly its smell hit him ten times harder, making him salivate in eagerness. He made himself swallow again, and said hoarsely to Gabriel, "Please, don't let me become a monster again."

"I promise," the angel swore quietly. What was it about these Winchesters that made the weight of the world seem to suffocate him?

He looked away as Sam swiftly, voraciously wolfed down the entire jug, and he cringed when he snapped his fingers to refill the jug once more with the same cocktail of warm demon and angel blood. Sam was so lost in bliss that he never realized that the jug should have been empty long before it actually ran dry, and the archangel turned to see the mortal's reddened tongue moving against the rim of the lid, searching desperately for even just another drop. Completely without warrant, the archangel began to think about other things Sam's tongue could circle around and play with, of his full red lips and how absolutely divine he would look in the throes of shameless pleasure—

Whoa. He stopped himself right there, because now was definitely _not _the right time for such thoughts. They kinda had some things to take care of. He cleared his throat and muttered, "Alright, kiddo. Get over here so we can get this over with."

Sam came closer to him, his hazel eyes suddenly darker yet more alive than the angel had ever seen them before, and there was a new light about the man—one that pulled him further and further away from the realm of humanity the more it brightened. He was nearly humming with new power, and Sam felt more energized than he had in…well, since he had drank that demon's blood while Ruby watched, right before he unleashed Lucifer. Did he feel guilty? Terribly. But the high dulled it enough that all he could think about was the fact that the archangel before him had some of the most captivating olive eyes he had ever seen, and would those grinning lips of his taste just as sweet as the candy he was forever munching?

Gabriel saw the unbridled lust that was coursing through the man just a second too late, and suddenly Sam was pressing him against the wall with a muscled chest, claiming the archangel's lips in a savage, hungry kiss. The angel was left reeling for a split second in pure shock—didn't Sam practically hate his guts? He was by no means complaining; the way their bodies fit together was uncannily perfect, and _man_ could Sam kiss! Before he realized what he was doing, the Trickster had put his hands on the Winchester's shoulders and let his tongue clash with Sam's in a downright sinful dance that left him dazed. When Sam suckled and nibbled the archangel's tongue, Gabriel groaned as his hips bucked forward, making their straining erections meet through their jeans. A guttural sound escaped Sam's lips into their kiss and he pressed into Gabriel again, the sinfully flawless friction making them both let out a soft moan.

But this wasn't right—the bitter taste of demon and angel blood in the mortal's mouth jerked Gabriel away from what was sure to be his greatest fantasy finally lived out and back to the firm reality that this wasn't really Sam. It was whacked-out-on-demon-blood Sam and it had just made him horny as fuck. And even though the angel wasn't the most moral being ever, he had enough of a conscience to know that if he didn't put an end to things now, the Winchester would have some very serious regrets once he came down.

It was with great reluctance that Gabriel pulled away from the kiss and looked the Sam, whose heavy-lidded eyes gazed into his with such a fierce want that the angel nearly felt on fire. "Sam," he said quietly, "we have other things to take care of."

As if someone had turned off a switch in Sam's head, the man blinked and then took a couple steps back, breathing still labored. "Jesus, I'm sorry," he burst out, quite obviously mortified. Had he just _made out_ with an _archangel?_

And had that archangel been…willing?

The trickster flashed him an easy, smug grin. "It's alright. Happens every time I walk into a room. I'm used to it."

For once, Sam was glad Gabriel was filled with almost nothing just jokes and sarcastic remarks. It almost took away from the fact that they had just been seriously about ready to make it to third base.

It was painful when Gabriel thrust his hand straight through Sam's chest just like he had done to his brother's only the night before, but it was bearable. The world went comfortably black for him and his body sank limply to the ground with a loud _thunk._

The Trickster pulled his hand slowly, carefully out of the Winchester's chest, and clutched in his fist was something that let out a light so bright it threatened to blind even him. Castiel appeared beside them both to take Sam's corpse, and after giving him a brief nod, Gabriel vanished, for once a serious and worried look on his features.

_Pops,_ he thought, _I know I haven't done too much to make you happy, but…if you give a damn about me or anything you've ever created, please let this work. _

* * *

A/N: Okay...I know that there wasn't really a ton of action in this chapter or the last. And there wasn't really much slash. And Castiel only said one thing, which is a travesty all in itself. And I'm super sorry for that. I was sad about it too. But hey, how about that crazy, drug-induced make out scene I threw in there at the end? I'm hoping that made up for the rest of the chapter just a little bit. I wanted to do more, but this was already 8000 words long and I didn't want to make it any longer than it already was. But cheer up, because next chapter is when we get back into the heart of all things Destiel and Sabriel! Woot! Next chapter, we'll have some heartful, meaningful scenes between Dean and Cas (yay!), and maybe Sam will get so frustrated with Gabe he'll strangle him. Okay, he probably won't strangle him, but I am definitely forseeing some sexual tension between both pairs.

Again, sorry for the lack of action/sexiness. More will come next chapter, I promise!

Friday, two days from now, I'll be leaving the country for Spring Break (awww yeah! Voy a Mexico!), and therefore will probably be unable to write for the next week. So...that means that the update is probably going to take an extra week. I'm sorry, but there's really not too much I can do about it. I will try my utmost to get the next chapter out and on ff dot net asap! I already have a vague idea of what I want to do with it, so that's a start! And maybe I'll write while I'm on the plane or something.

So if I take awhile to update, fear not. I'm just drinking obscene amounts of tequila somewhere in Mexico. I'll come back and update once I'm sober. :D

Thanks again for all your support! Leave a review and I'll share the tequila I come back with! ;)


	6. What Do You Call a Guy With?

**A/N:** Hey, guys! I'm back with tequila and jalapeños and sombreros and whatever else I need to appease you with to make up for my long absence! I'd like to apologize for how long it took me to update. First off, my spring break in Mexico was super awesome! You should see my tan! I had a complete blast! However, I accidently did the one thing EVERYBODY knows you're never supposed to do in Mexico. That's right, I drank the water. Completely by accident, but I did and there's no taking it back. I ended up getting so sick from it that I had to go to the hospital for a couple days last week. It was not awesome. On top of that, I found out that I'm flunking my accounting course, I had two exams, two papers, and I had to work 20 hours last week! And this week I'm a bit better, but still feeling crappy and I have a paper that's due in T minus...11 hours that I haven't started on. haha I love my life.

And I'd also like to thank everybody who reviewed/added me! I may not have replied to you all, and I'm sorry about that. I'll get around to it someday, I swear! Now...I've got 75 ppl signed up for story alert (omg I could almost die I'm so happy!), but I don't have that many reviews. So...maybe we could all write me a little review? I'd love you forever and give you a bigger bottle of tequila if you did. :3

But so here's the chapter. It's not as long as they usually are, but there's oodles of Destiel action, so I'm hoping that'll make up for it! It took me a really long time to figure out how I wanted to start it, and then it suddenly occured to me that it's never a bad idea to start out with some fluff! So that's what I did and then it just went along and wrote itself! Yay! So enjoy reading!

**Disclaimer:** I own none of this. I just wrote this chapter to put off my Buddhist Philosophy paper that's due at noon today.

* * *

Chapter 6

What do You Call a Man with no Arms and no Legs...?

All his life, Dean had preferred to stay in rural towns over cities for one very simple reason—away from all the garish big city lights, the night sky brimmed with trillions of stars and there was something wholesome in the gentle twinkles they gave off that never ceased to calm him. Tonight was perhaps the night he needed reassurance most. It was Sam's first night in Hell, and Dean's first night knowing that he had selfishly sent his little brother into that pit with nothing but an untrustworthy Trickster-turned-archangel to aid him.

He and Castiel were on the trunk of the Impala—Dean leaning against the glass while his angel companion sat ramrod straight, his legs dangling off the edge. They both were gazing pensively at the abyss above them in silence for an immeasurable time. It could have been minutes, it could have been hours; all Dean knew was that out here on this forsaken dirt road, surrounded by nothing but the corn fields and Cas and the sky, that he felt tranquil, even if he was about to combust with worry over Sammy.

Castiel broke away from the night sky and looked to the Winchester, his brow creased as he regarded his charge gravely. "You should have more faith. I'm confident that Gabriel and Sam will return fine," he intoned in Enochian, his glow the epitome of soothing warmth.

The mortal-turning-angel looked into those ethereal blue eyes and sighed. He wanted nothing more than to sink into that wonderful light Castiel was giving off, he desired nothing but to bask in the safe, loving aura and forget about the impending Apocalypse, Satan, Michael, and the fact that Sammy was probably up to his neck in a sea of demons in Hell without him right now. "It's hard to have faith when you know that your whole family is cursed."

Cas was silent as he stared at Dean, his head cocked to the side as he tried to understand why it was that this man _still_ had no faith in God. Dean had been pulled from Hell by God's orders, and He was also responsible for rescuing the boys when Lucifer was unleashed from Hell. Surely by now they had seen enough to know that God was somewhere and that He _did_ have a plan, no matter how much it didn't look like it sometimes.

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Dean groaned, more or less picking up on Castiel's thoughts from the way his aura shimmered. "Look, can we just talk about something else, please?"

After a pause of contemplation the angel said, "We'll have to teach you how to fly soon, I imagine."

"What? How soon do you think I'm going to have wings?" he demanded, shocked. Dean was mixed about the idea of growing feathers. On one side, having wings would be pretty freaking awesome, if he were totally honest with himself. And he'd be able to fly with them (but he would still be taking the Impala everywhere). But then there was also the downside that having wings just meant that he was that much closer to leaving humanity behind.

"I'm not sure. Probably within the week, though."

"Oh." Dean was quiet for a long, long time as he took a swig from his beer and returned to stargazing before he finally asked, "How do real angels learn how to fly? Like do you just _know_ or did someone have to teach you?"

Castiel looked up to the sky, an almost-smile hanging on his lips as his eyes twinkled. "We were all taught to fly by the archangels. Well…most of us were." As he amended himself it seemed as though he were looking through the heavens and straight into his past. Secretly, Dean loved it when Cas appeared so lost in reverie—the peace that swept over the angel seemed to seep into him merely by association, and Dean found himself yearning for anything that could soothe the festering sores within that he worked so hard to hide. "I never needed instruction. I was created with the knowledge."

"Wow. So you were nerdy even as a baby angel?"

He shot the Winchester a delicate scowl, but then returned to the sky with the smallest of smiles. "It would be pretentious to say that God favored me with knowledge he did not grant my other brethren. I imagine that I knew only because I was created flawed."

"What do you mean, 'flawed?'" Dean asked, a bit concerned (not that he was admitting to it or anything though) as he felt his companion's aura go from happy to somewhat melancholy.

"Look at me, Dean," Castiel said placidly, giving Dean a smile that was as sad as it was resigned. "Here I am, an angel of the Lord sitting on the trunk of an automobile, acting more human than any angel has a right to. I've turned my back on Heaven and therefore have nearly fallen all the way to mortality. And let's not forget the important fact that because I broke the ultimate angel taboo and gave you my blood, you're now transforming into an angel, which is another enormous blaspheme in itself. How could I have disappointed my creed so much _without_ being seriously flawed?"

Something inside the elder Winchester began to churn about angrily at Castiel's words. Sure, maybe Castiel wouldn't go down in the angel yearbook as teacher's pet, but Dean would argue tooth and nail to prove to anybody or anything that everything Castiel had done was for the greater good; screw Heaven and their bullshit unbendable rules. Besides, now that he had his super freaky angel mojo skills and could look into people, he could tell plain as day that there wasn't a mean or selfish bone in Castiel's superhuman body.

"Cas, you're so full of shit," Dean said simply after finishing off his bottle of beer in one deep drink.

"Such a thing isn't possible. I used the facilities just this morning."

The not-so-mortal mortal couldn't help the smirk that upturned his lips. "It's an expression. But really, you should know by now that you're not flawed." The angel in question looked to him with his trademark "I'm perplexed by your human-ness" expression, with his head cocked just a bit to the side and his brow knit in concern. Dean groaned. He had been hoping that his friend would just get what he was saying, because then Dean wouldn't have to leap into what was sure to end up a chick flick worthy monologue. He really, really should have known better though. "So you broke the rules by growing some emotions. So what? Rules are made to be broken. Having emotion isn't a bad thing—it's a _great_ thing, sometimes. It's what made you realize that what's going down in Heaven is fucked up and it's what made you leave to come help Sammy and me. And something tells me that God is sitting in some café somewhere, thinking about smiting all those stupid bastard brothers of yours that think starting the Apocalypse was a good idea. You did the right thing by leaving, by trying to help us weak, inferior humans. And who cares about the blood? Honestly, maybe this is how it was supposed to turn out, or something. God's a nice guy sometimes, right? I bet he'll just give you a slap on the wrist and tell you to go on your merry way once he finds out. So seriously, quit thinking you're messed up. If anything, you're the exact opposite."

"Hmm." Castiel was ruminating long and hard over all of what Dean had just said to him. Usually, Dean was very pessimistic in how he viewed people and the world, so if he were saying such positive things about him, surely he had to be right. "Thank you, Dean."

"Don't mention it. Really." This was getting dangerously close to something that would be in _You've Got Mail_ or something. Not that Dean had ever watched the movie on TBS once he had made perfectly sure that Sammy was fast asleep.

He needed another beer to diffuse the girly-ness of the whole situation. He went to scoot off the trunk of the Impala but came to an instant stop his hand slid across the smooth black body of the car to rest over the top of another warm, surprising soft hand.

It was like a spark danced through him at the contact. It was thrilling, as though all his body was suddenly alight with energy and warmth, or like a fountain of heat and…dare he say contentment? had bubbled up within him and was filling him with these comfortable, startlingly _desired_ feelings. Cas was looking at him with those celestial blue eyes of his, his expression a wonderful mix of surprise and pleasure. His aura had changed too—the nostalgia was completely gone and now it was nothing but that superb glow that he had only when it was the two of them and Dean had said or done something particularly witty or kind. To be completely honest, Dean wanted to melt into Castiel and never ever break away from him again.

"Please, don't get up," Castiel breathed in his gravelly tones.

Dean couldn't even remember why he had been planning to get off the trunk. All he could think about was how the twinkle of the stars had absolutely nothing on the way Cas's cerulean eyes shimmered, and how the bitter tang of alcohol and its accompanying drunken stupor could in no way compare to the way this angel was making him feel right now.

The Winchester's body seemed to move of its own accord as he slid back to recline once again against the glass, his fingers intertwining with Castiel's as he did so. Cas followed suit and leaned against the rear windshield so that they were cozily shoulder-to-shoulder, silently rejoicing over the fact that Dean hadn't cast him away like he had feared.

There, underneath the full night sky and beside the person he trusted most in this world, Dean felt more at peace than he had all his life.

* * *

"Okay, so…what do you call a man with no arms and no legs floating in the middle of the ocean?"

"I don't know, Gabriel," Sam droned flatly. "What do you call him?"

The Trickster's eyes lit up with mirth. "Bob."

"That's a _terrible_ joke!" Sam admonished. Really, he shouldn't have been surprised in the slightest that only five minutes into their "sojourn" Gabriel had already successfully managed to tell an amputee joke.

"Aw c'mon! It's a classic! Okay, okay, how's this one? What do you call a _woman_ with no arms and no legs standing against a wall?"

Sam sighed. "I don't know. What?"

"Eileen," he sniggered.

The younger Winchester fixed his travelling partner with a severely patronizing look.

"Look, Gigantor. If you're going to keep being a sourpuss just because we're in Hell, I'm going to get pretty upset. And you're not going to like that at all. So I suggest you quit being Debby Downer and start being at least somewhat funny." Because those no arms no legs jokes were downright _gold._ You couldn't _not_ laugh at them and still be classified as tasteful. Besides, it was going to be a pretty lengthy journey to Malacoda and the Trickster was going to be pissed if Sam didn't keep him entertained one way or another.

And Gabe also knew that he had to do whatever he could to keep the Winchester's mind off of his brother, or the fact that he had just ingested enough demon blood nearly to make him go darkside all over again.

Sam was trying his hardest to forget that Gabriel existed. Instead, he looked up to the roof of the cave they were currently traipsing through. The stalactites that hung from the ceiling were really more like spears than mineral formations—all of them were yards long, each tapering to a point that was much too sharp to appear on Earth. The roof was nearly one hundred feet above them but the stalactites were long enough that Sam had to duck in certain places to avoid getting stabbed in the face by them.

Gabriel had snapped them to this place not even ten minutes ago, claiming that it was the mouth of Hell. Besides the sharpness of the cave formations, it appeared to be just a regular cave. But underneath the surface Sam could feel something sinister festering and writhing in the rock, in the air, in the puddles of putrid water. There was no doubt, even in such a mundane place, that they had left the realm of the living and had moved on to somewhere much darker.

The archangel suddenly held his arm out in front of the mortal, making him come to a stop. "You're going to have to get closer to me now," the shorter of the two said.

"Why?" Sam was rather against the idea. Hadn't they gotten close enough in that apartment to last them a lifetime? He certainly thought so.

"Because I'm scared of the dark," Gabriel sneered. "Up ahead, it's going to start raining acid that will melt your flesh. I'm assuming you don't want that to happen."

Oh. Well in that case, he didn't really have much of a choice. Begrudgingly, Sam crowded next to the angel and they resumed walking through the dark cave. He couldn't see it but he could feel it when Gabriel spread out his wings around and over Sam, shielding him from the impending acid. It fell impossibly from the ceiling of the cave exactly like rain, except that it was viscous and a deep purple. He watched it burn holes in Gabriel's clothing, but the angel showed absolutely no sign that it hurt or anything.

"How are you so familiar with this place?" ventured Sam. The Trickster definitely wasn't his favorite person, but he couldn't stand the silence any longer.

Gabriel's expression was carefully blank as he said off-handedly, "I've gone sightseeing a couple times."

So…had he been sent down here before? Or had he maybe come to visit his brother at some point? The cogs of Sam's mind were spinning as he contemplated all the different reasons Gabriel could ever have had for coming down to Hell. Gabriel had lived for millennia and Sam was fascinated to think about all the different things he had seen and done over the years. Right then and there, Sam vowed to find out more about the archangel's past. He wasn't interested or anything in Gabriel's life, definitely. He just knew that they would need a way to pass time when they weren't slaughtering demons and fighting for their lives.

"Oh, Sammy," Gabriel sighed wistfully. "A week of my life is more eventful than your entire life."

"Yeah, okay," he snorted. "And don't call me Sammy."

Gabriel looked over to the boy in confusion. "I don't get what the big deal is with me calling you Sammy. It's just a nickname, y'know."

Shooting the angel a dark scowl, Sam explained shortly, "Look, my name is Sam, not Sammy. Only Dean and my dad called me that. It's for family only."

What he said really shouldn't have had any effect on Gabriel, so the archangel was rather confused when his words hurt something on the inside. What did it matter if Sam wasn't close to him? He was a Norse god/archangel. He wasn't exactly supposed to get smitten with anybody or anything. And he shouldn't even feel the desire to get close to anybody. He had obviously spent much too much time around humans if he was pining (but he definitely wasn't _pining_ over anything, let alone Sam Winchester, because archangels don't _pine_ for anything) over some stupid mortal.

Fucking Winchesters. It would be too good to be true if he never had to deal with them again.

He snorted to himself as they continued to trudge through the dark cave while the purple rain of acid pattered down on him. Maybe he was the Trickster, but he would never be able to trick himself. A surreptitious glance in Sam's direction revealed that the younger Winchester was determinedly focusing on the opening of the cave, which now was just a miniscule pinprick of light in the distance. Those hazel eyes were downright captivating, even if there was something malicious and definitely inhuman seething about behind them at the moment.

Gabriel sighed. Perhaps making him fall head over heels for Sam Winchester was God's way of giving his deviant son some much needed punishment. It was the only way Gabriel could rationalize the way he felt for the mortal.

Something registered in Sam and his attentive hazel eyes narrowed to squint at the cave's opening. Though it was still yards and yards away, he knew instinctively that there was a brigade of demons waiting to ambush him and the Trickster. He didn't want to admit it, but Sam loved the powers that the blood gave him and he loved knowing that he was practically unstoppable when he was on the stuff. If it didn't nearly make him turn into a demon every time he took a little over the recommended dose, he would be in heaven.

The younger Winchester knew that it was a terrible, wrong, inhuman thing to do—to guzzle the blood of demons down like it was the yummiest Bahama Mama he'd ever had and fucking _love _every second of it more than life itself—but he also knew that there would forever be a part of him that would want just a taste more, just one more drop, for old times' sake. He could pin the blame on Azazel, who admittedly had started the whole mess, but he realized that while Yellow Eyes had originally tainted him, he hadn't been the one who convinced him to take the first damning sip of Ruby's blood that night in another run down hotel.

However, it hadn't necessarily been Ruby's fault either. That she had been a manipulative, backstabbing, typical demon from the very start, Sam had absolutely zero doubt, but he was full aware that he had nobody to blame but himself for his shortcomings. Had Ruby preyed on the fact that he was still trying to cope with the demises of his brother, father, and girlfriend? Definitely. Had she also used every trick in the book to get him to trust her implicitly? Yep, and Sam had fallen for them like the sucker he was. But did she ever force him to lap at her self-inflicted wounds?

Nope. That was all on Sam, one hundred percent.

In Sam's defense, he honestly had no clue that things were going to get so out of hand so fast. At first, it was a necessary evil; put up with drinking blood to help people, to _save_ them, to do things that would make his dad and brother proud. From there, it had swiftly spiraled out of control and before he knew it, he was trying to conceal the fact that he was sneaking sips or gulps of the viscous fluid two, three, sometimes four times a day. And when he ran out, he had to hide the fact that he was going through withdrawals that would make a heroine addict's attempt at cold turkey seem like a mild case of the sniffles.

After Bobby and Dean had thrown him into the panic room for some much needed detoxing, Sam was able to look back on everything and fully realize how much damage he had done to not only himself, but more importantly to Dean. Every time his big brother looked at him now, no matter how hard he tried to cover it with a look of brotherly concern or humor, there were always thin shrouds of cold distrust and disgust lurking in the depths of his gaze.

And knowing that his brother looked at him like he were nothing more than a putrid demon at times hurt the younger Winchester more than any weapon ever could. The boys were polar opposites—always had been, and probably always would be—but as true opposites, they could never stay away from each other. They had grown up much too reliant on one another to be able to live without one another—Gabriel had successfully proved that at the Mystery Spot, and God had proved that when Dean had been sent Down Under for four months. Both times, Sam had been reduced to something that was more instinct and beast than human. And when Sam had been killed, Dean threw all caution and everything their father had taught them to the wind and, without a second thought, sold his soul to a demon in exchange for his baby brother's rejuvenation. It was sheer idiocy and they both knew it, but they also both knew that, if the opportunity should arise again, they would both fight tooth and nail to get the other back, regardless of the consequences.

So Sam was incredibly torn about how he felt at the moment. One the one hand, he felt better than he had in a long time with the demon blood pumping through him, giving him the gifts that he sometimes thought he was meant to wield against the supernatural. He loved the thrill that buzzed through him and the raw power just waiting to be tapped. But then he also felt as though there was something slowly gnawing away at his insides, like a rabbit who'd gotten stuck in a trap and was slowly chewing its foot off in order to find salvation. It wasn't pretty and it wasn't pleasant, this feeling of guilt that wracked him. If Dean knew what he had done to go to Hell, he would probably kill Sam out of disappointment and anger. Sam didn't honestly care what happened to him in the long run of things. He didn't even particularly mind if he died down here, just so long as Dean got the tail and he never had to know about Sam's secret shame.

"There's demons up ahead," he said quietly to Gabriel.

"My spidey senses are tingling too. You're not scared, are you? Demons are pretty tough, y'know."

Sam shot the archangel the bitchface that said, "You did not just ask _me_ that," and the Trickster grinned.

"But really, maybe I should have told you this before now, but…demons are a lot more powerful here than they are on Earth," Gabriel went on, a bit of seriousness leaking into his voice. "So don't waste any time and kill them quickly. Of course, you're going to be more powerful down here too, though."

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're worried about me," the Winchester said thoughtfully. Gabriel wasn't usually one to ramble, and his olive eyes seemed to be darting all about, checking to see if there were any unseen foes trying to get the one-up on them.

"I'm just going to be pretty pissed if any of your blood gets on my shoes. They're Italian."

That did nothing to convince Sam, who smirked. The Trickster's concern didn't really make sense though. Before, it had felt like he didn't really care whether the boys lived or died all that much, yet all of a sudden here he was, an archangel of the lord, escorting the younger Winchester into the depths of Hell in search of an immensely powerful demon, all to save the mortality of the other Winchester.

As they reached the opening of the cave, the purple acid tapered off and eventually stopped. Gabriel retracted his wings while Sam counted the demons waiting for them a mere one hundred yards away. Just shy of thirty, the blackened, contorted beings skittered about in the ruddy, hazy sunlight, their long talon-like claws catching in the dead light. Their eyes were like obsidian pebbles, cold and lifeless, and Sam found himself giving an involuntary shiver as they neared. He had never seen the true visage of a demon, and he could honestly say that he would be happy if he never had to again after this.

Sam stopped when he felt something cold touching his stomach. Gabriel was holding Ruby's knife out to him, a small almost-smile on his lips, his eyes hard in a serious, calculating way that seemed completely foreign on the Trickster's face.

"Here," he said lightly. "You're going to need it more than me."

The younger Winchester took the blade from him, their hands touching as they traded off. The softness of Gabriel's hand stuck Sam as surprising; maybe it was because he had pretty much only interacted with colder, less humanoid angels like Uriel, Zachariah, and Castiel, but he had always imagined that an angel would just as hard and unyielding as the auras they put out.

"You like?" Gabriel flaunted his smooth hand to the human. "I know this amazing girl named Tiffany and let me tell you, she can work _miracles_ with her hands, and I don't just mean manicures—"

"Let's just go fight demons," Sam said quickly, his face paling at thought of what sort of "miracles" she could perform.

Gabriel sighed. Why couldn't the funnier Winchester be stuck in Hell with him?

* * *

Neither Castiel nor Dean spoke of that night under the stars the next day. Even the angel had enough sense to know that bringing it up would do nothing but cause problems. Instead, they went about their usual routines. They were still trying to track down the vampire coven, and that day they finally made a breakthrough. A friend of one of the most recent victims had told Dean and Castiel that there was an old abandoned hotel a few miles down a little used road not far from town, and that it was rumored that there was a biker gang camping out there for whatever reason. Dean would bet money that it was the vampires they had been looking for, and he was all but ready to charge in there with his machete and dead man's blood to lay the smackdown on those sons of bitches because they had managed to take _ten_ girls so far, which was just unacceptable.

Since they still had at least four hours of daylight upon making this discovery, they decided to attack the coven immediately. The sooner those monsters were laid to waste, the sooner they could hightail it out of there and find something else to take their minds off of the fact that Sammy and Gabriel were currently risking their lives in Hell to save one pathetic Dean Winchester from becoming a dick with wings.

Dean had expected to waltz right into that ramshackle hotel with Cas and tear the place up, slaughter all the vampires without a single hitch, and still have time to hit up the local bar and chat with that lovely bartender Cassie he had grown to like over his brief stay here, then tear off dramatically on the highway to an unknown destination.

He should have known, however, that _nothing_ ever turned out how it should when he was involved.

So the not-so-mortal mortal and the not-so-angel angel headed to the hotel at around two p.m. In its heyday, it had once been a rather splendorous place, but it had obviously sat empty and neglected for at least a century. The bricks were missing or crumbled away in places, and all the windows were gone, along with the doors. Some ash-colored tatters of curtains fluttered out of the windowsills, like the gnarled hands of a ghastly woman reaching out to pluck out an unsuspecting victim's eyes.

Not many things creeped out the Winchester. Not getting the willies was the most important prerequisite of his job, after all, and he was too manly to get scared over some dilapidated old building and curtains and vampires and the Apocalypse and life in general. Only sissies cowered over that tripe.

So what was this uneasy feeling that was zinging through his veins right now? It wasn't really fear, nor was it excitement or anxiety. It was something foreign, but he wasn't going to waste time on sitting down to contemplate it when there was a massive nest of vamps mere feet away from him just waiting to be ganked.

Castiel and Dean let themselves into the doorless entryway of the decaying hotel, slowly and cautiously exploring while being careful not to step on any of the brick or glass fragments that littered the ground. Judging by the auras he felt, it seemed that the coven was using the cellar as their hideout (and Jesus, did Dean really just track the vampires by their fucking _life energy?_ This was getting a little out of hand for him), so he silently motioned for Cas to follow his lead through the kitchen and down the rotted stairs that were in serious danger of collapsing under the strain.

Now, submerged in total darkness, the elder brother was suddenly thankful that he currently wasn't completely human. A few weeks ago, he wouldn't have been able to see his hand in front of his face down here, but now that he was all super-powery this pitch blackness was just as bright as it was outside. He could see all twenty-five vampires as they slept on blankets, hammocks, mildewy mattresses, and whatever other makeshift beds they could find.

Just as long as they managed to stay silent, this would be a simple in-and-out deal—

Right as Dean was about to disembark from the stairs, the final step snapped beneath him with a deafening **crack** that seemed to rent the air like a gunshot. Dean cringed as all twenty-five monsters' eyes flashed open and honed in instantly on the intruders.

Why couldn't things be easy just once? Was he really asking all that much?

Apparently.

So that's how Dean and Castiel found themselves barely holding off a horde of thirsty and extremely pissed off vampires. Presently both men were pressed against different walls of the dirt cellar, the cloying odor of earth and blood filling their nostrils as adrenaline raged through their systems. They were both downright overwhelmed by the sheer numbers against them, and it was all they could do just to defend themselves against the lightning fast blows that their opponents were throwing at them. If not for his sudden burst in speed, Dean would have been beaten to a bloody pulp less than a minute into the conflagration.

Cas, however, didn't seem to be faring as well as Dean was. He had cut down a few, but that had served only to further enrage the surviving mob. Dean was so caught up in his battle that he wasn't able to pay attention to the angel, but he was a tough guy and he could definitely take care of himself, so there was really no need to check in on Cas.

That's what Dean thought until Castiel's cry rent the air and the Winchester instantly looked over to the opposite corner to see a group of vamps surrounding a bloodied angel that was sagging against the wall for support. His mind went entirely blank save for the image of his companion broken and injured, his blue eyes wide in apprehension and pain, and without warning, an overpowering need to protect Cas hit him like a ton-truck. It was like nothing he had ever felt before, as though every cell in his body was screaming at him to get his ass in gear and save his angel, and if he didn't charge over there right the fuck now, something absolutely horrible and irreversible was going to take place that he would forever regret.

The next few seconds went by in a blur to Dean. The bloodied machete in his hands clattered to the ground and he thrust his hands forward, as if to push all the vampires encircling him back. A blinding white light emanated from his palms and the vampires hisses as they threw their arms up to shield their sensitive red eyes. It did nothing to help them, and Dean was amazed as his newfound power dissolved the monsters before him into dust that vanished into the whiteness. His Grace enveloped the entirety of the room and within a second, all twenty-five vampires were not only dead, but obliterated into particles so small they couldn't be seen even by the inhuman eye.

The light faded seemingly of its own accord and Dean ran to his fallen friend, who had slid down against the wall and was now panting heavily, clutching at his side.

"Jesus, Cas! Cas, are you okay?"

"I…am fine," he said between deep breaths. "I believe I've only sustained a fractured rib and expended my Grace."

"_Only?"_ Dean hissed. He wasn't angry at the angel; he was just still reeling from the thought that Castiel could have and probably would have died if Dean hadn't somehow tapped into his mojo.

Speaking of which, _he just freaking used his Grace to ice an entire coven of vampires!_

But more thoughts on that later. Right now, they had to get out of this hellhole and back to the motel room, where he could inspect Castiel's injuries and then berate him for letting himself get hurt.

"C'mon," he said gently as he helped Castiel to his feet.

They slowly shambled out of the hotel and to the Impala, and after helping Cas into the passenger seat and throwing the hastily cleaned machetes back into the trunk, Dean sped back to their motel. Within minutes, he had the angel lying flat on his back on one of the beds, the trench coat and torn dress shirt gone. Dean winced when he saw the angel's pale torso rife with angry purple and blue splotches with nicks and cuts thrown in. It just didn't seem possible for Castiel to get injured. When he had first introduced himself, Castiel had given off an air of invincibility and divine power, but now more often than not, Dean had more angel juice than Cas did.

It just wasn't fair.

The Winchester was busy dabbing the angel's cuts and sores with rubbing alcohol when Castiel finally spoke quietly in Enochian, that almost-smile gracing his chapped lips. "You used your Grace for the first time today."

"We should be taking pictures of everything. I'm sure Sammy's going to want to make a scrapbook of my transformation when he gets back. He's such a girl."

"Scrapbook?"

"Never mind," Dean smiled. "I would use my newfound mojo to heal you, but I'm kinda worried I'd just blow you away instead."

"That's alright. Now that your Grace is manifesting itself, you need to be taught how to control it before you wield it again." His blue eyes were heavy with fatigue, but he struggled to keep them open.

Dean saw this, and screwed the cap to the alcohol back in place before standing up. "Get some shut-eye, recharge your batteries, and then we'll figure out what we're doing next."

Castiel nodded and the Winchester went to take a shower to mull these new developments over. As the hot water beat down in his chest, he was able to think clearly and concisely.

Last night was still confusing him. A lot. Dean didn't want to think about it—he really, _really_ didn't—because thinking about holding hands with an angel in a man's body and then the things he felt when he held hands with said angel was a horrible idea because it would just snowball. It was going to start out small, like, _'So holding Castiel's hand wasn't bad. No big deal. He's a close friend. You can hold friends' hands sometimes.'_ On the first train of thought he was already bullshitting himself into denial, which typically was never a good sign. But from that simple thought, things would just get more and more complex and at first he would try to convince himself that holding hands with Castiel was okay because they were just good friends and it's okay for friends to hold hands when they're so stressed out about the end of the world and brothers that are traipsing through Hell and the fact that one of them is turning into an angel while one is turning into a human, but then he would start trying to convince himself that that happy, bouncy feeling he got when he held hands with Castiel was nothing other than the fact that the beers were finally kicking in, even though no alcohol had ever made him feel so content in his entire life, and then he'd have to repeatedly tell himself that he and Cas were _just_ _friends_ and absolutely nothing more, because Cas was an angel and a dude and totally off-limits and Dean was a human turning into an angel and a dude and he just didn't swing that way because he had never swung that way and he had never been interested in butt-packing because he had been raised to believe that that just wasn't how it was supposed to be, but if Dean were completely honest with himself, he would have to admit that no woman he had ever met in his extensive travels had ever been able to compare to Cas in any way, shape, or form, but just why the hell would he want to derail the wonderful train of denial that he had running through his mind that was trying its damnedest and succeeding in making him almost believe that he had zero romantic feelings for the angel that had raised him from Perdition?

And had he just managed to completely think out everything he specifically _didn't_ want to think out? Dean sighed and forced his brain to stop thinking about the hand-holding and the tiniest inklings of doubt that had begun to worm their way into his heart.

So, how about that mojo blast, huh? Dean had really surprised himself with it, and while it was fucking awesome and he felt like a total badass for decimating an entire coven with his fucking willpower, it was also just a little bit scary. How much of his soul was now angel? And how much longer did he have until the transformation was complete? Dean couldn't wait to learn how to smite stuff whenever he wanted. He expected it would be coolest part about being an angel, and once Cas was feeling better, that was the first thing he was going to make the angel teach him.

Dean paused in scrubbing the hotel grime and blood off himself as one chilling thought zipped unbidden through his mind.

_You feel powerful because you killed that coven with nothing but your willpower back there, and so you're not completely upset about becoming an angel. Maybe Sam never minded drinking the demon blood because he felt the same way, and maybe you two aren't as different as you think._

The elder Winchester denied that thought vehemently. Yeah, he wasn't going to lie that he got a rush out of his new powers, but it was totally different from how Sam had been when he was all whacked out on demon blood. Firstly, Dean's powers came from a holy source, and Sam's came from demons. Secondly, while Sam had a choice to stop using his powers and drinking blood, Dean couldn't really control the fact that he was leaving behind his humanity, especially if his Grace was going to keep doing things by itself like it had today. And it wasn't like Dean had volunteered for this, like Sam had. No, he was completely different from his brother.

Dean's heart ached as he wondered how Sammy was doing. It had been not quite 30 hours since he and Gabriel had left. Surely they had already started fighting demons. He just hoped that they would come back in one piece, even if it was without Malacoda's tail. He could deal with almost anything as long as Sammy was alive and healthy.

He toweled himself dry and then went into the living room to find a pair of pajamas. It wasn't late in the day, but he was in no mood to go out and socialize, so a tattered AC/DC t-shirt and boxers would be perfect. Castiel was sound asleep on his bed, his mouth slightly agape as he took on the most serene expression Dean had ever seen, chest rising slowly but steadily, hands resting neatly by his sides.

Dean couldn't help the small smile that wouldn't remove itself from his lips as he plopped down on his own bed and flipped on the tv, hoping to find Sexy, M.D. Unfortunately, the tiny tv stand wasn't in the center of the room but instead was directly in front of the angel's bed. He sighed—he had always hated watching tv from an angle, but there was no way he was going to wake up Cas to tell him to switch beds just so he could look Dr. Sexy straight in the eye when he came on screen.

The quite sounds from the tv awoke Castiel and he looked groggily over to Dean. "Why don't you sit over here?" he rasped.

"What, in your bed?"

"Yes."

"Uh…with you in it?"

"Yes."

Castiel seemed not to mind sharing his bed with the hunter, but he also had the social understandings of a brain dead monkey. Dean was still on the fence about everything that had happened last night, and he wasn't entirely sure that he wanted anything to add to the unfortunately increasing list of things that made him wonder if he wanted to leave friendships aside and move onto something much more serious.

But Dr. Sexy was on, and he really couldn't stand looking at the screen from so far away.

The angel shimmied out of the middle of the bed and Dean lay down beside him, head propped up comfortably on a few pillows. Ah, it was the perfect view. Castiel looked up at him with those ever-searching cerulean orbs and smiled slightly before closing his eyes once more. With Dean's protective and warm aura so close, Castiel couldn't help but feel safe and comfortable and at peace, but something was still missing. Something was itching at him inside, urging him to go on and do one last thing that would cement that feeling of bliss for the remainder of the day. He still didn't fully understand why he constantly felt the way he did around Dean, and he knew that it was going to take some time before he could grasp what it was that motivated him to stay close to this damaged hunter, but for now he was going to "go with the flow" and let his feelings take him wherever they chose.

Dean looked away from the tv when he felt something move against him, and when he glanced down his was startled at what he saw, but in a good way.

Castiel's slender fingers were resting across Dean's exposed side in a gentle yet slightly possessive manner, his eyes closed and his breathing back to its steady rhythm as he had already dozed off again.

The elder Winchester surprised himself when he put his own hand over Cas's and kept it there the remainder of the night, perfectly content to feel the warmth of his companion beneath his fingers and to bask in his satisfied glow that only he could see.

* * *

**A/N: **So...did you like? This was much fluffier than my previous chapters, but I figured it was time that this story showed some of its Destiel roots. I'm going to get this next update done quicker, I promise! This was just a ridiculous wait, I know! Thanks for hanging in there and being patient like a boss! :D

Also, before I forget, I hope that those "no arms no legs" jokes didn't offend anybody. Because that most definitely was not my intention. My mom used to tell them to me when I was a kid and I've always loved them, and they just seemed like something that Gabriel would absolutely love too, so I threw them in. I meant absolutely no disrespect to any amputees. I have several friends who are missing limbs or digits, and I would certainly not want to upset them, either.

And uh...if you could just leave a review, I'd really, really appreciate it, even if it's really short and not constructive. I really love the feedback, no matter what it is.

Kk, I'm done nagging! Keep on keepin' on! Thanks for your continued support!


	7. All Up in You! :D

**A/N:** Hello, hello! Sorry for how long it took to update this. My computer got a nasty virus that for some reason wouldn't let me open up Microsoft Word. Sad day, I know! haha and I've had some super crazy stuff come up out of the blue that really got me out of the mood to write, but I'm back, I think! Grab your earplugs for a few seconds, because I'm going to toot my horn and it's gonna be loud, k? Okay, here I go-_holy crap, you guys! You gave me **20** reviews last chapter! You guys are the bestest readers ever and I freaking **love** you! We should all meet up somewhere and glue ourselves to each other so we can be together forever, **because that's how much I love you!**_

Okay, I'm done tooting and being creepy. And on second thought, I'm not going to send out that mass email about rendezvousing with large amounts of superglue and pasting ourselves together at the hip because it's rather impractical. Going to the bathroom would be awkward for all parties involved, and so would having sex. Unless you're all into exhibitionism.

Anyways, let's get serious. So, when I wrote this chapter I thought to myself, "I think they might hate me for this." And...you might. But please try to fight against that feeling because this just had to be done. A single review I got in the very beginning of this story was what gave me this idea (Adja, it was totally you, so thank you for the brilliant idea!), and once it was in my head I just couldn't get it out because it would be amazing. So...let's not hate YummyFoods. Technically, you can't hate YummyFoods. How would you survive without deliciousness?

To undertand fully one part of this chapter with Gabriel and Sam, I advise that you give these songs a quick listen-to, if you haven't heard them already: "Shout at the Devil" by Motley Crue, "The Number of the Beast" by Iron Maiden, "Highway to Hell" by AC/DC, "Bat Out of Hell" by Meatloaf, and "Dragula" by Rob Zombie. But mainly the first two, if you're short on time or you don't particularly care for hard rock/metal.

**Disclaimer:** I very unfortunately own nothing herewithin. Song lyrics are from Motley Crue and Iron Maiden, in that order.

* * *

Chapter 7

All up in You

]:D

Dean didn't know it, but today was the day he would ruin the one good thing he had in his life.

Like most life-altering events, it would be preceded by seemingly inconsequential, trivial things that would snowball so rapidly they couldn't be noticed until it was too late and the damage was done.

The trigger was a few days ago, when Dean had walked into that bar and asked for a beer from the bartender with the mesmerizing blue eyes that seemed so outlandishly familiar but impossible to place.

The hunter had recently taken to drinking excessive amounts of hard liquor. It seemed that his angel mojo was further settling in because it was getting harder and harder for him to get properly shitfaced, and since he knew that soon he would need to drink an entire liquor store to get a buzz, he was taking his favorite hobby more seriously than he ever had in his entire life.

So it was safe to say that he wasn't able to make sound decisions by the time Cassie whispered in his ear that she got off work in five minutes, and she would just _love_ it if she had a trustworthy man to make sure she made it home alright.

Dean was nothing if not chivalrous, so he extended his arm like any decent gentleman and showed the busty young woman out the backdoor and to the Impala.

It was truly a shame that the haze of alcohol that clouded his senses kept him from noticing the man sitting quietly in the corner of the bar, with his askew tie and slightly wrinkled trench coat that was somewhat out of place in the deep and hot South.

* * *

Sam was aware that time went much faster in Hell than it did on Earth from what his brother had told him, but it had never dawned on him exactly _how_ fast it went. Sam did the math while he and Gabriel made their way through an immense desert with sand that seemed to writhe and moan and cry out in anguish with every step they took. The archangel informed him that it wasn't the sand, but actually people who had committed pedophilia in their past lives, forever to be buried, suffocated, and burnt by the massive dunes all around them as their punishment.

It turned out that one day in Earth time computed to about one-hundred and twenty-two days down here. About a third of a year. Sam shuddered at the idea of how long they would be down here, but the thought of Dean's need instantly rallied his courage back up.

The demons didn't scare him in the slightest. His powers were at least ten times stronger down here than they had been in the living realm, so they didn't stand much of chance. And even if one of them was strong enough to overpower both him and Gabriel (which was damn near impossible), they wouldn't kill him because their boss needed him for the whole Apocalypse showdown shindig coming up. In that aspect, the younger Winchester had a pretty sweet setup down here.

However, there was one thing that had him just about scared shitless and on edge with apprehension. The worst thing about it was that there was no way he could get rid of the problem—he had tried, several times now to no avail.

Said dilemma was currently humming a very loud and out of key version of Rob Zombie's song Dragula, a song that should never be hummed in the first place. Before that, he had completely slaughtered "Highway to Hell," and he had started off the whole sadistic serenade with an ear-splitting rendering of "Bat Out of Hell." He had even attempted (and failed miserably) to make it sound as if there was an entire choir singing the chorus with him. All it had done was make him even more out of tune than he had been before. The hunter had stayed perfectly silent throughout all of it, praying that if he just ignored him he would finally throw in the towel and shut the hell up. Really, how many more songs about Hell did he _know_? He had to run out soon.

Sam almost preferred the indecent amputee jokes over this new form of torture.

He had nearly resigned himself to slow death by mental trauma when an entirely new song burst into existence, and he was so startled by the fact that it wasn't coming out of Gabriel's stupid mouth that he stopped, mesmerized by it.

_He's the wolf screaming lonely in the night,_

_He's the bloodstain on the stage,_

_He's the tear in your eye, _

_Been tempted by his lie,_

_He's the knife in your back; he's rage,_

_He's the razor to the knife._

_So lonely is our lives,_

_My head's spinnin' round and round_

_But in seasons of wither,_

_We'll stand and deliver,_

_Be strong!_

_Aaaaand…_

_SHOUT, SHOUT, SHOUT!_

_SHOUT AT THE DEVIL!_

It broke down into a dark guitar solo after that, and Sam was still baffled by the music. Why in God's name would he be hearing Mötley Crüe in the middle of a desert in Hell? He wasn't complaining, though—anything, even classic rock, was a very welcome reprieve from the pain Gabriel was putting him through.

Gabriel finally quit humming and turned to look to the mortal boredly. "Are you gonna pick up the phone or what?"

"Huh?" Sam had nearly forgotten that before he left Earth, he had tossed his cellphone into the small knapsack he had slung across his back. But "Shout at the Devil" wasn't one of his ringtones. That didn't even make sense… He quickly dug around in the bag and extricated the still ringing Blackberry. "One new text message," it declared on the screen. He read it quickly, eyes wide at first in shock and then narrowed in rage.

"What the hell, Gabriel?" he growled.

"What?" was the all-too-innocent reply.

"Why would you send me something like this?"

The Trickster's face fell into a hurt frown. "I didn't send you anything. I'm just minding my own business. What's it say?"

Sam thrust the phone closer to his travelling companion, stopping just before slamming the device straight into the angel's pompous face. The angel-turned-Pagan god couldn't hide the ornery grin that lit up his face.

"_Make urself at home, Sammy,"_ the text said, "_Can't wait to get all up in you! xoxo, Satan ]:D"_

"Aww," he cooed. "You guys are gonna make such a sweet couple."

Even on his worst days with Dean, Sam had never felt so close to blowing up into a zillion tiny pieces in all his life. Seriously, what was it about Gabriel that made him so goddamn good at finding and jamming each and every button the hunter had?

He heaved a great breath and counted down from twenty, and while it lessened his anger only minimally, it pacified him enough to speak calmly. "Gabriel, could I please borrow your blade?"

"Why would you want that thing?" he chuckled.

"So I can run you through with it."

The Trickster took in Sam, mainly the murderous glint in his eyes and tense I'm-about-to-get-all-up-in-your-grill-and-fuck-your-face-up-with-my-fists posture. He said gravely, "I'm gonna have to say no this time."

Sam shut off his phone and shoved it back in his bag, silently swearing that the next time it went off, he would find some way to wrestle Gabriel's archangel sword away from him and then deal some serious damage. Gabriel went back to murdering "Bat Out of Hell."

Each new painful note that came out of the Trickster's mouth was like a drop of water falling into a quickly filling bucket. Sam knew it was only a matter of time before the metaphorical bucket overflowed and he attempted to strangle the archangel in the vain hope that maybe he could mangle his vocal cords enough that he would be forced to shut the hell up for the remainder of the journey_._ His face was set in a determined grimace as he tried his hardest to block out the cacophony Gabriel was subjecting him to, but it just wasn't possible when he was belting out his own whining rendition of the guitar solo.

But really, the final straw had nothing to do with Meatloaf.

Five minutes into Gabriel's never-ending guitar solo (in which he flailed his arms about spastically in what Sam assumed was a failed attempt at air guitar while emitting sounds reminiscent to a dying rabbit), another song began to issue from the depths of his bag.

_I was left alone, my mind was blank._

_I needed time to think, to get the memories from my mind._

_What did I see? Can I believe_

_That what I saw that night was real and not just fantasy?_

_Just what I saw, in my own dreams,_

_Were they reflections of my own warped mind _

_Staring back at me?_

_Cuz in my dreams, it's always there!_

_The evil face that twists my mind_

_And brings me despair!_

_Was this all for real or just some kind of Hell?_

_SIX SIX SIX!_

_THE NUMBER OF THE BEAST!_

_Sacrifice is going on tonight!_

_I'm coming back, I will return!_

_And I'll possess your body and I'll make you burn!_

Sam scrambled to find the phone in his bag. He didn't want to give Gabriel the satisfaction by reading the text, but some manner of sick masochism had taken hold of him, and he had to know what the next message said.

"_I didnt get a reply from u... ]:( too 4ward maybe? How bout u, me, a bottle of demon blood, some clubs and baby seals? The northern lights r beautiful rite now. 3 ]:D"_

Gabriel not-so-sneakily leaned towards the hunter to read over his shoulder, then grinned. "Oooh, looks like _some_body's got a boyfriend!" he whispered excitedly.

Somewhere within Sam something audibly snapped.

Letting out a sound that could only be classified as a battle cry, the hunter tackled the archangel, who was caught entirely off-guard by the sudden onslaught of violent sasquatch. They hit the sand with a resounding thud, Sam's hands like vices on Gabriel's shoulders. The Trickster looked up to his captor with startled olive and was met with seething, murderous ruddy hazel. Sam's chest was heaving as he attempted to slaughter the archangel with his expression alone.

They were like that for a few seconds, Gabriel patiently waiting and Sam steaming, before the former said flatly, "You gonna hit me, or some—"

"_Shut up!"_ Sam snarled. "I want to break every single one of your bones, but if I hit you I'll just break my damn hand because you're a fucking archangel!"

"That's rather problematic for you," he conceded with a sagely nod.

The hunter let out a frustrated growl as he tightened his hold on the Trickster's shoulders, but his tone went from angry to exhausted. "Why do you keep bringing up Lucifer to me?"

A sigh pushed out of Gabriel and he looked to the hunter with something akin to pity. "Don't you see how wound up you are about him? You need to _relax._ And learn how to take a joke, while we're at it."

"Your way of getting me to _'relax' _is to send suggestive texts and sing horribly about Hell?"

"I'm not that bad of a singer," pouted the Trickster.

"I've heard banshees with more potential than you." Gabriel seemed to take personal offense to this and scowled up at the hunter. Sam didn't give it any thought though, and continued, "And exactly how am I supposed to calm down over the fact that the Devil wants to 'get all up in me' and end the world? Because maybe it's just me, but that's some pretty serious shit. How am I supposed to stop being afraid to sleep every night because I know that _he's_ going to be there, whispering in my ear and twisting my mind until I'm not sure whose thoughts are whose anymore? How can I come to terms with the fact that if things keep going the way they are, my brother and I are going to have to fight each other to the death? Huh? Tell me the answer to that, Gabriel."

They were mere centimeters from each other now, their noses nearly touching and Gabriel could smell Sam's sweet, minty breath fan over him with each exhalation. Those hazel orbs revealed all the anguish and the silent plea for help that Sam would never actually vocalize. And the archangel's heart ached, it truly did. He wouldn't exactly call himself compassionate, but he had had no idea the extent to which Lucifer had been meddling with Sam. It was normal for an angel to visit its vessel in dreams a few times, to establish a bond, but he was downright badgering him and attempting to strong-arm him into submission with his crafty words and twisted ideals.

That was something that Gabriel wouldn't tolerate.

"Look," the archangel said quietly, all fun and games put aside, "I can't help you cope with the fact that my brother needs you as his vessel to do his dirty work. Them's the breaks. And unless Dean manages to turn into an archangel, he's going to have to give up and give in to Michael at some point. And I'm sorry it has to be that way—really, I am. I like you boys, and to be honest, you're some of the better humans out there. But there's only so much you can do to fight against Fate. …There is one thing I can do to help you, though."

"What?" The mortal tried to keep his hope out of his voice, but couldn't stifle all of it.

"I could keep him out of your head, if you want," he offered. "It'd be like your own personal mental bodyguard, 24/7."

Disbelief colored Sam's features, and Gabriel was taken about by how much that hurt. "Y-you'd really do that for me?"

"If you want."

"Thanks," he said, his surprise almost making him sound unsure.

The Trickster rolled his eyes in reply. "Either kiss me or get off me, Sasquatch."

That was when Sam realized exactly how close he was to the archangel. Hell, their crotches were all but touching, and his lips were barely an inch away from the other man's. He leapt up as if burnt, leaving Gabriel to smirk as he picked himself up gracefully and dusted the sand off his back.

"Just can't keep off me, can ya?" Gabriel waggled his eyebrows at Sam and smiled smugly.

Sam rolled his eyes even as a light blush tinged his cheeks.

"C'mon, let's find somewhere to get some rest. I think it's gonna get dark, and something tells me we're not going to like the things that go bump in the night here," the Trickster said as he resumed striding through the crying sand.

They made their way to the small cave in comfortable silence, and once inside Gabriel furnished it with one large bed, a table full of food, and two chairs. Sam gladly dropped into one of the chairs and began wolfing down some of the fried chicken—he was too exhausted and hungry to care about health today. The Trickster meanwhile busied himself with the chocolate fondue.

"Y'know, for this being Hell and all, it's not that bad," Sam said presently.

Gabriel snorted. "We haven't seen anything yet. Just wait until we get further in."

Hunter and archangel finished their meals and, sated, Sam collapsed on the bed to relish the soft pillow and softer mattress that he seemed to sink into. The fight with the band of demons they had had upon entering Hell and then the long walk through the barren desert had really worn the mortal out; he just hadn't completely realized it until he plopped down on the wonderful bed Gabriel had so graciously procured.

He was about to drift off with his head comfortably buried in a pillow when he felt the other side of the bed depress, and he turned to see Gabriel relaxing on the other half, hands behind his head and one leg crossed over the other as he sucked on a lollipop.

"Uh…why are we sharing a bed?" the hunter asked warily.

"Don't be such a prude, Winchester. You know you're getting all hot and bothered right now at the idea of sleeping with me."

"I am not! Get out of my bed!"

"So…I'm assuming you _don't_ want me to keep Lucy out of your dreams then?"

Sam blanched. If he had known that sharing his bed with the Trickster was a prerequisite to keeping Satan of out of his head, he probably would have thought harder about it before taking him up on his offer of protection. He said slowly, "No, I want you to help me, just…why do we have to be in the same bed?"

"Proximity. I've got to be touching you to channel my grace into you."

Oh. Well…that wasn't _too_ terrible, all things considered. The hunter figured that that really wasn't too unbearable. Just as long as he focused on the fact that Satan wouldn't be able to talk to him tonight, and not on the part about him and the Trickster sharing a bed, he was okay with this.

The arid atmosphere was already making him feel sweaty and uncomfortable, so he reluctantly sat up and removed his t-shirt. Already feeling physically better, but slightly more awkward, he lay back down and waited for Gabriel to work his mojo.

The hunter felt soft fingers carding through his shaggy locks and gently tug on the roots before coming to a rest there. Soon, something cool and soothing was coming from Gabriel's fingertips and filling him with the most serene, peaceful sensation he had ever known.

"Sweet dreams, kiddo," the archangel murmured in his ear.

* * *

The drive to Cassie's place took only a few minutes and he followed the young woman into her small but well-kept house. He had barely closed the door behind them when she pounced on him and covered him with her full lips and lithe tongue. Dean wrapped his arms around her and carried her into the bedroom, where he lay her down gently on the bed before lavishing her with his own kisses and experienced hands.

Something was nagging at him on the inside though. There was something about this whole thing that just didn't really seem right to him, but he couldn't think of what it was. She wasn't a monster or anything that he could tell, so mark that off the list. And she wasn't married, so put an "x" next to that too. She wasn't the annoying type that wanted to "keep in touch," and she was also pretty hot. Everything had therefore been crossed off on Dean's mental Checklist of What to Look for in a One Night Stand.

So why was it that he had that sick feeling in his stomach? It wasn't because of Castiel, was it?

No, surely not.

Okay, maybe.

But really, they weren't dating or anything! So they held hands a few times, so what? That definitely didn't make them in a relationship. And maybe he had really, really taken a liking to hanging out with the angel as of late, but that just meant that their friendship was growing, right? And maybe Cas had started to smile at Dean a lot more lately, but that probably didn't mean anything. They were just friends—unnaturally close friends, and that was it. There were no feelings between them except for camaraderie and a basic understanding of what each other was going through right now. And that was it. Really.

Here was where Dean realized that he was putting just a little too much thought into his feelings and decided to do something much more worthwhile with his time. Maybe he wasn't entirely sure what was going on with Castiel and him, but he was _certain_ that he wasn't going to have a relationship with him. C'mon, they were both dudes. Or angels. Or some weird combination of both. Either way, they were both men and Dean just couldn't make himself think that it was okay to be with him. It would be wrong. It would be so taboo to be with an angel and _Jesus,_ was he actually thinking about getting with Castiel when there was a perfectly hot and willing chick beneath him?

Forget Castiel. Tonight, Dean was reinstating his manhood and straightness. He would sleep with the bartender tonight, and if he felt guilty in the morning (which he most definitely _wouldn't_ because he and Cas _didn't have a thing_), then he would know that there was possibly something more than friendship brewing between them, and he would deal it.

But that surely wouldn't happen.

It was too bad that Dean had no way of knowing that there was a certain man in a certain trench coat across the street that had watched him escort the woman into her home, a deep frown on his lips the entire time.

* * *

Sam woke up feeling more rested and rejuvenated than he had in years, and he found it somewhat ironic that he should finally get a good night's sleep in the bowels of Hell. Gabriel lay a few inches away from him, his hand still gently holding on to the hunter's hair. Oddly, Sam found he didn't really mind this contact.

"Your snores could cause small earthquakes, y'know," the Trickster said, a displeased pout on his lips.

A roll of the eyes was all Gabriel got in return, but then Sam's face smoothed into something more sincere and he said softly, "Thanks, Gabriel."

"Yeah, whatever. Let's eat some breakfast and hit the road. We've got some ground to cover before nightfall."

The archangel finally relinquished his hold on Sam and they both got up and went to the table, where there were all manners of breakfast food. Honestly, the mortal found himself amazed at Gabriel's hedonistic tendencies. Forgoing the pancakes that were more chocolate chip than they were actual batter, he grabbed some strawberry yogurt instead. Gabriel of course made a beeline for the pancakes and slathered them with butter before digging into them. They ate in companionable silence, and when Gabriel snapped his fingers and a large pitcher and glass of thick red liquid burst into being, Sam wordlessly drank it down to the last drop.

He set the glass down on the table and his suddenly glinting gaze didn't leave it as a serious scowl grew on his face.

"What?" Gabriel said around a mouthful of pancake.

Sam didn't take his eyes off of the glass as he traced a finger around its rim. "What do you think all of this blood is going to do to me?" he asked quietly, "I mean, I'm drinking two gallons a day and we've got a long, long way before we get to Malacoda."

The Trickster gave him a roll of the eyes and continued eating. "You Winchesters do nothing but worry over stupid things."

"How is turning into an abomination a stupid thing to worry about?"

"It's stupid because I've been making sure you've been drinking enough angel blood to counterract whatever the demon blood may do to your soul, idiot."

The mortal gaped at Gabriel in downright shock. Never in a million years would he have guessed that the Trickster would care about the wellbeing of his soul. After all, this was the being that had given him herpes and had him hit square in the nuts with solid metal simply for amusement. Gabriel's care stirred something within Sam that he hadn't felt in so long it nearly seemed foreign. It was light, warm, and it seemed to tickle his very being. When was the last time he had felt something like this?

Not since Jess had been around.

And the hunter found it just a little too outside of his comfort zone that Gabriel was making him illicit the same feelings that Jess had all those years ago, so he decided to shove that little feeling in a box, lock it, and then cram it into the darkest recess of his mind that he could find, because it was a longheld Winchester tradition to keep all strange emotions tied up and gagged.

With a simple snap of the archangel's fingers, all signs that they had visited the cave were gone and the two made their way into the ruddy daylight and began stolidly trudging through the sand once more. Beads of sweat trickled down the contours of Sam's body as the sun beat down on them, the constant moans and screams from the ever-moving sound just compounding Sam's discomfort.

Seeing this and realizing that he himself was already bored to tears, Gabriel said, "Did you know I was there to hear Caesar say, 'Et tu, Brute?'"

"What? Really?" Sam stared at the archangel in incredulity.

"You betcha. Y'know, for being a great general and dictator and all, I figured he would have put up more of a fight than he did."

"Yeah but...weren't there like sixty senators that attacked him?"

Gabriel snorted. "History is often little more than biased tall tales."

So the archangel filled Sam in on what really went down on the Ides of March and from there they ended up discussing the similarities between the Greek and Roman gods of old. The mortal was downright blown away by all the insane encounters Gabriel had had with the gods and godesses and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't in awe with the archangel. He had partied it up with Dionysus, the god of wine, partying and ecstasy (really it came as no surprise), and then hooked up with Aphrodite (That was a part that Sam wished Gabriel had paraphrased or left out entirely), and then hightailed it before Hephaestus could beat him to a pulp. He had chatted it up with Janus about the future and past of the world, though Gabriel admitted that he didn't really care for the god very much because he never knew which head to look at and he was rather depressing.

The fact that Gabriel had pretty much been everywhere and seen _everything_ that ever influenced the world humbled the plain mortal. To look at Gabriel, you wouldn't think he was anything more than a cocky man that a twelve-year-old could probably beat in a fist fight, but there was so much power in this plain vessel, so many centuries and millenia of experience, that Sam felt like a child around him sometimes.

That day flew by just as quickly as the last had and as the sun began to fall Gabriel conjured up another cave nearly identical to the one they had found the night previously, complete with the same decor. They ate until they were full again and then Sam discarded his shirt before crawling onto the bed. Sleeping in the same bed as Gabriel wasn't optimal, but he found that he really didn't mind all that much. He would rather die before he acknowledged it, but he found Gabriel's touch to be soothing. Maybe it was the Grace that was pooling from his fingers, or maybe it was the fact that this touch was the reason he wasn't plagued by Lucifer nightly, but he felt distinctly happy when Gabriel joined him in the large bed and lost his hand in Sam's locks.

The last thing Sam remembered before drifting into the blissful abyss was the archangel murmuring in his ear, "Sleep well."

* * *

Dean Winchester was really about as clueless as humans came sometimes. Honestly, the fact that a man who knew more than nearly anybody else in the world about the things that went "bump" in the night could be so blind to what was in front of him was astounding.

Take, for example, the events that were currently spiraling out of control. Dean had flirted shamelessly with Cassie the bartender upon arriving in this small town, and had continued to do so even after Castiel expressed his upset over it (even if the angel didn't understand the cause for such distress). Then he had allowed himself to get close to the falling angel for reasons both uncontemplated and unknown to him. They had held hands underneath the stars (and if _that_ didn't sound like a chick flick moment, what the hell did?) and they had fallen asleep together on that same bed the day Dean used his newfound mojo to smite that coven of vampires. The falling asleep together thing was unintentional-totally not on purpose, really-but the holding hands? That was just as much on Castiel as it was on Dean. There was a little, teensy part of the elder Winchester that was whispering in his ear, "You know that this means something to you; you know that _he _means something to you." But Dean continued to stalwartly charge forward while drowning out the tiny but sure voice with alcohol and women.

Judging by tonight, Dean seemed to be succeeding tremendously at his latest endeavors. As of now, the raven-haired beauty was on her hands and knees before him, wearing nothing but a sultry smirk as she ravished him with her warm, moist tongue and mouth. The Winchester's eyes closed in bliss as his fingers got lost in Cassie's long tresses and when she ran her tongue over that sensitive part where his shaft met his head he let out a low groan of sheer pleasure. He could feel the heat pooling and pressure building inside him and urged her to move just a bit quicker by tugging gently on her hair. She gladly obliged, letting out throaty sounds that sent delectable vibrations straight through his throbbing member and made his whole body quiver in anticipation.

"That's it, baby," Dean murmured breathily.

He bit his lip to bring himself down a tad. Dean was a man who did everything thoroughly, and this bartender would be no exception. He was about to move things onto the bed when something warm and unwarranted suddenly filled the room andhe opened his green eyes to see what had entered the room.

There in the corner a few feet away from him stood a certain falling angel in askew tie and rumpled hair, his pale lips open in a rather startled, debauched way. His aura was filled with hurt, denial, and a touch of anger, but there was also the undeniable undercurrent of arousal. Those blue eyes of his lit up the room nearly as much as his aura, and Dean found himself mesmerized by them.

Castiel was watching Dean get head-and it turned him on.

And quite suddenly, the hunter lost all control of himself and with a gasp spilled his hot seed into Cassie's mouth, a single, torn syllable on his lips.

_"Cas."_

But the angel had already vanished in a flurry of invisble feathers and hurt.

* * *

**A/N: **So...like I said before, please oh pretty please don't hate me for ending it this way. It really just had to be done. There just wasn't enough conflict going on. So here's a whole bunch now! I know that this chapter wasn't as long as the others, but they were getting to be just a little _too_ long, really. So I hope you guys don't mind the sudden drop in pages. Also, I know that my writing style has kinda changed. I don't like this new one as much, but the words just aren't coming out the same way they were before for whatever reason. I'll see if I can try harder to revert back to my older writing style, though.

Personally, my favorite part of his chapter was the ]:D face. I don't know why, but it just makes me laugh every time to imagine Lucifer with that carefree grin.

This is the paragraph where I harp at you for reviews. So, c'mon guys! Reviews! haha but seriously, this time I have a specific question for you guys and it'd be really cool if you could answer it in a review. The question is: Do you believe in ghosts and demons? Let me know in a review and I'll give you something super awesome next chapter, I swear! Or just let me know what you thought about the chapter. That's generally accepted too.

Thanks again for reading my story! Keep on keepin' on!

]:D


	8. Platonic Friendship

**A/N:** Hey, Hey! Got this chapter up a little quicker than the previous ones, largely because of all the amazing reviews you guys gave me! Thank you so much! I now have over 100 people on my alert list and I was so happy with that that today I just sat down and started writing! 10 hours later, a whole new chapter was born!

Now, I know my story hasn't really had too much to make it M rated, but there's gonna be some definite NC-17 material in this chapter. Just a heads up. Happy reading!

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing herewithin. I just wrote this because I have amazing readers. And I have an accounting exam in 10 hours I don't want to study for.

* * *

Chapter 8

Platonic Friendship

When he first began to fall and express emotions, Castiel was unaware of what it was like to feel anguish. Now he seemed to feel it all too often, even if he didn't fully understand why.

He was sitting on a park bench somewhere in northern Japan where he watched the moonlight dapple the lifeless playthings before him and he felt the soft breeze ruffle through the trees and his hair in a rather soothing way. Now if only he could get rid of every other emotion and just replace it with the calm, unchanging self he had once been before he risked it all to help the Winchesters. How was it that humans could function with all the weight and pressure their emotions put on them? He was an angel (a_ former_ angel, more precisely), and even though he was granted more power than all humans put together, he felt as though he would be crushed by the turbulent things inside him right now.

So many questions were buzzing through his mind, and the confusion on top of a solid layer of baffling anger on top of an unhealthy dose of sorrow made his stomach twist uncomfortably. What he had been experiencing the past few days with Dean and what he had witnessed tonight seemed so paradoxical that surely his recollection of one or the other was off. However, Castiel knew that even though he was falling more with each passing day, his memory still remained perfect.

And he knew that just a day ago they had slumbered together on the same bed, yet tonight he had watched Dean fornicate with the bartender. Had Castiel been wrong to believe that perhaps there was something a little more than friendship growing between them?

He rested his forehead on his fists. Judging by what he had just seen seven minutes and thirty-seven seconds ago, yes.

But _why?_ What had happened to make Dean want to go home with that stranger? The angel was by no means entirely familiar with the way humans interacted with one another, but he had been under the impression that holding hands and falling asleep together were things that friends didn't do. And since the Winchesters didn't partake in those activities together, Castiel had ruled out the possibility that Dean saw him as a brother. In fact, the angel occupied his time largely by contemplating what exactly was going on between him and the hunter. It was so far proving to be one of the most enormous enigmas the angel had ever chanced upon.

When had he even begun to look at Dean Winchester differently? To Castiel, the eldest Winchester had always stood apart from the rest of the human race. The angel had completely rebuilt him and carried him out of Hell, so he logically knew the hunter better than anybody, even Sam. Mayhap it was this connection that they had had from the start that had been the catalyst. Or maybe it was when Castiel witnessed this mortal, as broken and worn-down as he was, rise up time and time again to save the entire world from oblivion. Castiel could never stop the feeling that surged within him whenever he watched Dean going above and beyond what would break normal humans. He had come to realize that this powerful feeling he got was pride, pride in the man he was able to call companion.

Somewhere along the line that pride had transformed into something different, though the angel was unable to put his finger on what exactly it had become. He was protective of the eldest Winchester more so than of the younger, and his chest seemed to ache when he had been away from Dean for long periods of time. And when he was around the mortal-turning-angel, something in his stomach fluttered uncomfortably about, as if there were moths or something else equally unsettling in there. These things concerned Castiel greatly, yet he wasn't about to ask Dean. He had the inkling that it would be some sort of mistake.

On top of all the confusing, unidentifiable emotions coursing through the angel's system, there was also a nearly overwhelming sense of guilt. Castiel most certainly held himself responsible for giving the mortal his blood and thereby completing the demons' spell. It was one massive blaspheme that had led to another, in essence. If he had just been stronger, if he had conserved his Grace better, he perhaps would have been able to save Dean without making him lose his humanity. Cas was optimistic that Gabriel and Sam would return with Malacoda's tail, but the worry that their mission would fail was eating away at him with every passing moment of their absence.

Castiel had always seen himself as self-reliant, but he knew now that there was one thing in this world he couldn't exist without. If something were to happen to Dean, Cas would truly be lost. He and this human were different in every sense of the word, so one would naturally assume that they would be completely incongruous, but it became apparent to the angel that there was beauty, perfection even, in that which was cobbled into one. He would do anything, _anything_ for this hunter without even a second thought if it would ensure his happiness.

The angel was likewise feeling fear now. Fear that their relationship had crossed lines that were never meant to be crossed, dread that tonight was something that would dismember the bond that had been growing gradually between them. Even though Castiel wasn't aware of what exactly their bond was composed of, he knew full well that breaking it would be the most painful thing he had ever endured. The anguish he felt when killing Uriel and betraying Anna's trust would pale in comparison to the turmoil he would succumb to if he and Dean were no longer able to be in proximity. He had grown to crave the elder Winchester's presence as a human craved air and the fact that this had caught him unawares startled him considerably.

He wanted to go back to the motel and see Dean because he felt that familiar tug in his chest that he had begun to associate with the urge to be around the hunter, yet he felt that he shouldn't. He wasn't calm enough. If he flew there now he ran the risk of losing control of his vastly disconcerting emotions and the results would most likely be less than favorable.

Castiel wondered what Dean was thinking right now. It had been twenty-three minutes and two seconds since the incident. Was he regretful? Was he wishing for the angel to come to him? ...Was he still with the woman? Cas's heart gave a painful shudder at that thought, but he strongly reminded himself that it was entirely Dean's decision who he fornicated with and that he had absolutely no right to get upset about it.

His mental admonitions had no effect though.

Tonight had shown Castiel two things: Dean quite obviously had no interest in him outside of being comrades. There had been a mistake on Castiel's part when it came to piecing the meaning out of the mortal's actions. The holding hands, falling asleep together, and general happiness they had partaken in had been meant as gestures of friendship and nothing more. Furthermore, the angel had come to the realization that if he hadn't sabotaged their relationship completely tonight, he would have to hide any and all romantic notions he had towards the hunter to keep from ruining the best thing he had experienced in his ridiculously long existence. If Dean wanted to be friends, Castiel would gladly oblige him. And unless the Winchester made it explicitly clear that he wanted to be more than friends, Cas would show no sign of harboring any feelings other than friendship. It wouldn't be easy, but the angel-turning-mortal was no stranger to adversity. He would overcome this obstacle just as he had all the others before him.

Castiel looked up to the stars and felt an almost-smile tug at the corners of his lips.

* * *

What would say, "I'm sorry for sleeping with that bartender and thereby epically screwing up our blossoming bromance that's maybe not a bromance but probably is" without _actually_ saying it? Because Dean really, _really_ wasn't ready to hand in his man card just yet, even if he was completely wracked with guilt.

Flowers? Nah, too cliché. A card? Dean was pretty damn sure there was no piece of paper that could make up for the fact that he banged some random chick when he and Cas had more than likely had a thing going. Chocolates? Castiel still didn't even really like to eat, so it's not like that would wow him into forgiveness.

Jesus, this was _hard!_ Dean had gotten used to a life of luxury when it came to women—he was never in one place long enough for it to matter if he got caught cheating on one of them—and did he just say "cheating?" He hadn't cheated on Cas with that woman had he? It's not like they were officially dating or anything...

The hunter frowned at his reflection in the off tv of his motel room. He was done making excuses and pussy-footing around this matter. Dean could deny his feelings and question himself all he wanted before, but now that he had actually hurt Castiel by ignoring how he felt, this shit had to stop. He couldn't keep pretending anymore because they had obviously let things get out of hand, and he wouldn't be able to stand himself if he caused Cas any more upset.

It was all painfully clear to the Winchester now. Hindsight was a major bitch, it turned out. Looking back on everything, he could see each and every thing that should have been a bright neon sign telling him to get with Cas. First the angel had traveled through the pits of Hell searching for him, had rescued him and built him anew with his own hands and Grace. That was on par with how his dad had sold his soul to Yellow Eyes to save Dean after that crash. Then Castiel had done the unthinkable—he had thrown away the only family he knew in favor of joining the Winchesters to fight against them. And _why_ had he done it? Because he believed in Dean's ability to put an end to Heaven's crazy scheme, to Fate itself.

And if that wasn't going above and beyond, what the fuck was?

After that night when Castiel came to him declaring that he was officially working with Team Freewill, Dean had found a new respect, admiration even, well up within him for the holy tax accountant. Nobody had ever trusted him that much in all his life. Near the end, John had come to trust his oldest to a certain degree. He was allowed to go on hunts by himself, but he still knew close to nothing about the more important things, like getting justice for Mom or where the fuck his dad was and if he was even still alive. And that was something that had always really hurt Dean. It was no family secret that he had always been the most loyal to John. He had bent over backwards and done anything and everything his dad had asked of him, and then he did more on top of that. He never stopped following his dad, not even for a second, yet the eldest Winchester still didn't feel that his son was worthy. So the fact that Castiel, a purported perfect being and a servant of God, had been able to put every once of his beliefs into Dean had been nothing short of awing. Castiel's batshit crazy confidence in Dean was what had probably started this whole debacle, really.

Then there was the whole fiasco in Fountain Green a couple weeks ago. Cas had committed the one most blasphemous act that had topped _everything_ else he had done against the Heavenly Host. By giving the mortal his blood, he saved his life, sure, but now he was becoming an angel at warp speed. The angel had known the trouble he'd be in, how he'd be hunted for the rest of his existence as would Dean, but he was so determined to save the hunter's life that he didn't think twice. He would gladly be hunted for eternity if it meant that Dean Winchester was alive and well somewhere.

This was a thought that filled Dean both with affection and horrible guilt. He had known all along what was going on between them—he had known nearly from meeting Cas that there was something different about him, that he captured Dean's attention like no woman ever could—but he had ignored it because he was scared shitless of what it all meant. He lied to himself so much that he had actually believed that he had no interest in Castiel besides friendship, but that was the biggest load of shit ever told. No other person had ever made him feel so good about himself, nobody had ever done so much for him, and there was nobody else that Dean would rather be with.

The realization was a earth-shattering one and Dean stared at his reflection in wide-eyed startle.

But that wasn't okay! It wasn't right to have thoughts like that about Cas! He was an angel of the Lord, for Christ's sake! Dean already had a long enough list of sins—he really didn't need any more, especially if they were as severe as having romantic relations with a freaking angel. Besides, Dean was flawed, horribly, horrendously marred. There was no way that it would work between them. Beauty and the Beast didn't really work outside of fairy tales and the mortal-turning-angel had absolutely zero doubt that it wouldn't be fair to Cas to subject him to all of his own shortcomings. Castiel deserved to be happy and carefree (or as carefree as an angel can be, anyways), and Dean was _not_ going to drag him down with all of his imperfections.

...However, the selfish part of Dean craved to tell the angel exactly how he felt so that they could be together. It sounded nice (the being together, not the actually admitting it out loud to the angel), yet he couldn't bring himself to subject Cas to it.

"Jesus," he muttered. "What am I gonna do?"

What he really needed was Sam. His behemoth physical presence masked the fact that he was actually a hormonal teenage girl, and he desperately needed to talk to someone who would know how to fix things. But Sam was currently in Hell with Gabriel, fighting for his life probably.

Dean looked at his phone beside him on the bed. He had watched his little brother slip his phone into that bag of his before he had left. Maybe if he could put a little mojo into the phone just right he could send a text...

* * *

"Hey Winchester, quit hogging all the blankets will ya? It's chilly."

Sam sighed and rolled his eyes at the archangel who was currently giving him a petulant scowl. "Gabriel, I don't see why we have to share the same blankets. Can't you make your own?"

"I _could,_ but they wouldn't smell like you."

"Wow. 'Cuz that's not creepy at all."

The Trickster fixed him with a pout that was more angelic than it really should have been and Sam felt himself caving. "Fine," he said finally, tugging the blanket in the angel's direction. "Just don't make me have any more weird dreams again."

Gabriel snuggled into the blankets and rolled onto his side, propping his head up with his hand as he frowned. "What was wrong with the one I gave you last night?"

"You made me a cast member of The Gilmore Girls. I'm pretty sure that classifies as a nightmare."

"I thought you were perfect for the role..." Gabriel trailed off, feigning deep hurt.

Sam couldn't help but grin. "Hurry up and let me go to sleep."

"Just can't wait for me to put my hands on you, can ya?" the Trickster-turned-archangel smirked, his olive eyes illuminated in the dark just the tiniest bit.

"Shut up." Sam sincerely hoped that ass wasn't able to see the blush that was sure to be growing on his cheeks.

It had been about two months in Hell-time since they had first came down, and Sam was now able to trust Gabriel. It had been slow-going at first—all the pranks the Trickster had pulled hadn't really helped matters—but now he looked forward to every night when they would lay down and take refuge together in the comfortable bed and warm blankets. He loved listening to Gabriel's crazy stories about the past and he loved knowing that there was absolutely no need to worry about him when they came across a pack of demons. He liked the warm, bubbling feeling he got when he made Gabriel laugh, and he downright loved it when he could feel the archangel's fingers in his hair as he was lulled to sleep each night, nightmare-free (except for when Gabriel decided to throw him into episodes of The Gilmore Girls).

As Gabriel wove his digits into Sam's shaggy brown locks, the mortal let out a content sigh. He was just about to drift off when suddenly he heard an all-too-familiar song burst into existence from his bag.

_Lord, I was born a rambling man,_

_Tryin' ta make a livin' and doin' the best I can._

_When it's time for leavin',_

_I hope you understand_

_That I was born a ramblin' man._

Sam sat straight up and fixed Gabriel with a murderous glare. The archangel quickly threw his arms up in innocence, his face a picture of suspiciously authentic-looking surprise, but Sam wasn't so easily fooled.

"Gabriel, I thought I made it clear that I'd find a way to maim you if you sent me another text from your brother—"

"Hey, hey!" Gabriel said, all affronted. "It's not me this time, scout's honor. You better go look at it. Really."

Throwing the Trickster another threatening scowl, Sam all but leapt out of bed and grabbed for his phone. If it wasn't Gabriel, who else would be sending him messages? He blanched for a moment when the thought crossed his mind that maybe it really _was_ Satan dropping him texts, but surely not. Oh please God, don't let it be Him.

Sam quickly opened up his messages and gasped before turning to the archangel watching him closely. "Gabriel, if this is you, this is your last chance to tell me."

The Trickster replied easily, "It's really not me, Sammy. Why? Who's it from?"

When the mortal offered no reply and merely stared at his phone as if it had suddenly sprouted arms and legs, Gabriel sat up and leaned over so that his chin was resting on Sam's shoulder and so the text was visible. His eyebrows raised in true surprise when he read the display.

_Hey, Sammy. It's Dean. Are you okay?_

"Looks like your bro's figuring out how to abuse his Grace already," the archangel commented.

Sam threw him an exasperated look. "You would know all about that, wouldn't you?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about. Now are you gonna reply to your brother or leave him to think that you've been eaten alive by demons?"

"I would, but I can't send anything back. No service."

Now it was Gabriel's turn to be exasperated. "Kid, you've got a tower right next to you. Write it and I'll send it."

"Thanks," Sam said quietly, a grin on his face as he quickly wrote, "_Gabriel and I are fine. Got wings yet?"_

The hunter could barely hide his excitement when his phone buzzed again. _"Not yet. I ganked 20 vamps with my mojo tho. And I turned all ur jeans into miniskirts."_

A quiet laugh escaped from Sam as relief and unrest washed over him in equal parts. He hadn't realized it, but his worry over Dean had been a suffocating weight on his chest and it was glorious to be able to breathe again. He had been terrified that when he came back from Hell, he would find Dean as emotionless and cold as Uriel. Obviously that wasn't the case if he had enough Grace to take out twenty vampires and he was still able to joke about Sam being a girl, but now the youngest Winchester was scared _because_ he had killed twenty of the bloodsuckers. It was silly to get worked up over it, he told himself, because he had known when he left with Gabriel that Dean would keep transforming while they were gone, but it was obvious that he was changing faster each day. Hell, it had only been a few days in Earth time since they had parted ways, and now he was icing entire covens with his Grace. How close was he to completely losing his humanity?

How close was he to changing into something that wasn't Sam's big brother anymore?

"Once we give him Malacoda's tail it'll be peaches and cream," Gabriel said boredly, "so quit worrying and send him another text."

Sam turned back around, a peckish bitchface on. "Nobody asked you to read my thoughts."

"Yes, well nobody _asked _me to escort you through Hell yet here I am out of the goodness of my heart. So let's not make this any more unpleasant for me than it needs to me."

The mortal rolled his eyes as he sent back another message. _"Nice work with the vamps! Quit messing with my stuff!"_

"_Not a chance, bitch. I txted you bc I wanted to make sure ur ok, but there's another reason too."_

"_K. What?"_

It was a few minutes of impatience later that Sam got the next message. _"I think I pissed off Cas pretty bad. I need some advice."_

"_What'd you do?"_

It took even longer to get this one, and Sam could almost feel his brother's nervousness in the words. _"I think maybe Cas and I sorta had a thing but then I slept with some chick and he walked in and now __he's gone and I don't know how to fix it."_

Sam's mind was promptly blown. Jesus, what the hell had happened since he and the Trickster left? It had only been a few days and Dean and Cas _"had a thing?" _What the hell did that even mean? Were they dating? Were they—Sam shuddered at the thought—friends with benefits? Surely not. He could never see Cas going for something like that. Surely Dean had meant that they had just become super close friends, right?

"So Deano gets a clue just a little too late it seems," Gabriel said, his tone amused as his olive eyes glinted with laughter.

The mortal looked to Gabriel and completely ignored the fact that their faces were mere centimeters from touching, what with how the angel was still propping his chin up on the hunter's shoulder. "What, you knew about this?"

Gabriel gave an apathetic shrug. "I figured you did too. Kinda hard _not_ to notice, really, and I only spent a few hours with those two lovesick idiots." When Sam's stunned, perplexed face all but ordered an in-depth explanation the archangel heaved a sigh, his chocolatey exhalation fanning over Sam pleasurably. "Cassie's had a thing for you brother ever since he raised him from the Pit. Why else would he have left Heaven and lost his Grace to help you chuckleheads? It's a suicide mission and you know it. And then there's the whole bit about my little bro giving Dean his blood. You probably didn't know this, but it's the most taboo thing an angel can do, even when it's not the final ingredient to a transformation spell. When he did that, he pretty much signed himself up to be hunted down for the rest of his existence. But even if you didn't know all of that, you _have_ to have seen the way they look at each other. It's like they're trying to screw each other with their eyes. It's disturbing."

"Oh gross! Would you please not talk about my brother and an _angel_ like that ever again?" Sam cringed away from the Trickster as he attempted to mentally scrub his brain free of the malignant images.

"What's so wrong about being with an angel?" Gabriel queried, his voice light and curious.

Sam frowned as he looked down at the phone's display. "I don't know, it just seems like asking to be sent to Hell, sleeping with an angel. Isn't that against the rules or something?"

"Pops knows we're big kids. He lets us date whoever we want, pretty much."

"Oh." Something passed over Sam's face in an instant so fleeting Gabriel wasn't able to process it, but then Sam looked to him seriously. "What should I tell Dean?"

"You think _I_ would know?"

"Well, you are technically an angel."

"Yeah but in case you haven't noticed, I'm everything that quiet nerdy angel isn't. I got nothin'."

Sam sighed and turned back to his phone and thought for a bit before sending, _"Have you thought about actually telling Cas how you feel?"_

To which he got the expected reply, _"Why would I do that? I'm not a girl."_

"_Dean, the only way you can make things right is if you explain to him how you feel and why you slept with that chick. He's not the kinda guy that can be wooed with gifts. So suck it up and get it over with."_

"_This is a friggin chick flick."_

Both Sam and Gabriel chuckled a bit at that and then Sam sent, _"DO IT. You'll be glad you did."_

"_Fine,"_ Dean's reply read. _"I will, but if you ever tell anybody about this, I'll change your jeans into skirts while you're wearing them."_

"_Jerk."_

"_Bitch. Be careful, ok? Come back in one piece."_

"_We will."_

Sam set the phone down on the nightstand and Gabriel finally quit using him as a human prop, choosing instead to lay back down on his half of the bed. The hunter followed suit and laid on his side to look at the Trickster, who was boredly picking at his nails. Something was eating away at the man, but he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to say it. He trusted the archangel with his life, of course, but trusting him to take Sam seriously was an entirely different matter.

"Uh...Gabriel?" he said presently, his voice a bit rough.

He didn't look up from his nails. "Hmm?"

"We uh... This tail thing's gonna work, right?"

Now Gabriel turned his gaze up to the young Winchester and took him in. He lay on his side, his body from the waist down covered by the warm burgundy blanket Gabriel had provided. His chest and arms were amazingly toned and strong and the angel found himself downright amazed with his beauty. Sam Winchester was the embodiment of wet dreams and he had to look away before he tackled the kid. His eyes were filled with thinly veiled fear and his brow knit in worry, which the Trickster found he didn't like at all. A quick probe into the mortal's mind revealed what was really eating at the younger man. He was scared that if the tail didn't work he would lose his big brother, the one person in the whole world he felt he could trust completely.

Something about that thought made Gabriel's heart do a terrible somersault.

"It's a near hundred percent guarantee," he lied warmly. "Now c'mon. You need to sleep. We're crossing into the next circle tomorrow and you won't want to miss the fun."

"And if it doesn't work?" came the near silent reply.

"Didn't I just tell you not ten minutes ago to quit worrying so much? I swear it's all you do. Listen—" Gabriel put a small hand on Sam's arm and squeezed it comfortingly, "—we're going to go get this tail, come back, and if for some freak reason it doesn't work...I'll try to figure out something else, okay?"

The Winchester's eyes widened in astonishment, but then a smile lit up his face and Gabriel found himself grinning right back. "You're a better guy than you let on," Sam whispered.

"And you're more of a girl than you let on," Gabriel replied in the same silky tones.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Can I go to sleep now please?"

The archangel trailed his hand up the mortal's arm and into his soft hair, his feather-light touches sending electricity shooting through his veins. What was it about Gabriel's touch that captivated Sam so? Every time they came into contact he found that he wanted him more and more and he was scared that one day that desire would overrule his withering reasoning. Why was Sam even feeling that way about the Trickster-turned-archangel? Sure, he wasn't bad looking and Sam had never really cared too much about gender, but his overly-honed survival instincts should have been screaming to stay away from him. After all, he _had_ been responsible for killing Dean over one-hundred times and he had hurt Sam on more than one occasion. He should be hating the archangel, planning how best to kill him once they were back on Earth because he killed people just like any other monster, even if he claimed it was "justified."

Yet despite knowing all of this, Sam Winchester found himself silently wishing that this wouldn't end whenever they got back to the realm of the living.

Cool fingers and Grace were weaving into his soft brown locks and in moments he was sound asleep, leaving Gabriel to survey him with a somewhat glum expression.

"That makes two of us," he murmured.

* * *

Dean felt like a new man after talking with his little brother. Knowing that he was alive and well had made him relax just the tiniest bit more. He had been terrified from the second they left that something would happen, but he could breathe a little easier knowing that they were still okay. And now that he could keep in touch with Sam, although remotely, he had been given another small piece of security.

And having spoken with the love guru, the elder Winchester felt that he was prepared to talk with Cas. Well, as prepared as he could get without getting completely shit-faced. Honestly, drinking himself into oblivion sounded like a pretty damn good idea right now, but he realized that he needed to make things right with Cas and that doing it sober was probably the best route. The angel would come, Dean would profess his love (but in a very manly, non-gay, non-girly way, and Jesus if he ever had to actually use the phrase "profess my love" he would promptly find a way to off himself), Cas would hopefully return those feelings, and then things would be back to being okay.

If "okay" meant "so fucking weird I don't even know what to think so I'm just going to go with it because it's not like there's any other reasonable option," that is.

Dean wasn't even going to let himself think about what would happen if Castiel rejected those feelings. Because he surely wouldn't. He wouldn't because Dean didn't want to think about how he would feel if he finally worked up the courage to tell him something this important only to have it thrown back in his face and then stomped on by the angel.

When Castiel appeared in the motel room three hours later, his aura glowing with relief, happiness, and determination, the Winchester was taken aback. He had figured the angel would still be righteously pissed-off with him, yet it appeared to be opposite. Dean all but jumped to his feet and realized with horror that all his bravery had been sucked from him and had been replaced with a case of the chills, extreme worry, and decidedly sweaty palms. Awesome.

They stood there looking at teach other for a few moments before Castiel spoke in his unruffled, calm baritones. "I owe you an apology."

Dean was floored. Had he heard him correctly? Just what the hell had the angel done wrong? He couldn't think of a single thing.

"It was wrong of me to interrupt you tonight when you were with the bartender. Without intending, I overstepped the boundaries of our friendship, and for that I am sorry. I don't wish to do anything that would encroach on our companionship."

And suddenly it was as if a phantom hand had snatched up Dean's innards and given them a vice-like squeeze. So that was how it was going to be, huh? Shot down before he'd even gotten off the ground? He told himself that it was fine by him, that it was better if they stayed friends because really, if he couldn't have Cas for a lover, he could make do with having him as a pal.

He told himself that the pain he felt inside had nothing to do with the fact that the love he had wasn't returned.

"Hey, it's cool," he forced out, working his hardest to keep his tone light, though his smile looked as like it was made of broken glass.

"Are you certain?" Castiel asked, cocking his head to the side in the way that Dean secretly found endearing. His blue eyes seemed to be waiting for something, but for what Dean was unsure.

"Yeah," chuckled the Winchester. "Next time you wanna try a threesome, just let me know a little sooner."

The angel's brow furrowed in bafflement at that and Dean's smile almost turned into a genuine one. He felt numb and dead on the inside, as though he had just been shoved under a massive current of ice-water. He needed to get out of here, to get away from the painful reminder of what finally realized he wanted but couldn't have.

Dean was sliding on his leather coat even as he opened the door to the motel and headed out. "I'll be back in awhile," he said simply, and if he closed the door a little too hard, he didn't notice.

Where was the nearest liquor store? Because he had a feeling he'd need all of its contents to make this night slip into a cold dark place where it could never be thought of again.

* * *

Sam Winchester had come to find a luxury previously unknown to him on Earth—the ability to sleep for a full night and then wake up gradually. He was sure that it had something to do with the fact that Gabriel was always with him and protecting him, so he didn't feel the need to be so on edge all the time. He loved that warm, fuzzy feeling he had when his eyes slowly opened and he knew that he was safe and sound.

This morning seemed like all the others at first. The hunter's eyes drifted open to view the dimly lit cave and he stretched his long limbs so that his toes curled. He believed wholeheartedly that you couldn't have a good day if you didn't have a good stretch before getting out of bed. That motion caused some unexpected friction against one of his more sensitive spots and in his hazy, half-awake state he found himself pressing closer against the comfortable warmth, seeking just a little bit of pressure to alleviate the discomfort his morning wood was giving him.

Here was where things dove off the path of normal and headed straight for the hills.

Sam let out the quietest of groans when that delicious source of pressure pressed back against him and he leaned forward until his whole body was against this unyielding object. His eyes closed and heavy, his mouth found his bedfellow's neck and he began to leave languid but passionate kisses there, punctuating each touch of his lips with a nip of teeth and swirl of tongue.

In response, the person seized one of his hands and placed it on their hip, using it as a support for when they pressed harder against Sam's firmness. When they receded the hunter let out a soft sound of disappointment but then gasped when they moved against him harder than the last time right as he rocked his hips forward. The result was hot, heady, and it had Sam's blood buzzing through him as he could feel the pleasure begin to build up behind his belly button. He attacked the person's neck with renewed vigor, lavishing it with his tongue and teeth until the person beneath him was writhing and letting out soft sounds of approval.

Suddenly there was way too much clothing getting in the way of their contact and the Winchester wasted no time in tugging down his own boxers and then sliding down the man's own boxers, his hands gliding down the stranger's ass and giving it a light squeeze in passing, making the person gasp.

When their hips moved in synchrony again and Sam's dick pressed into the man's soft flesh he couldn't hold back the low growl that escaped his throat as the other let out a soft keen of desire.

In his still half-awake mind, it never occurred to Sam to find out who this may be. Perhaps on a subconscious level he knew who it was and didn't care, but he would like to think that he simply wasn't thinking that morning. All he knew was that right now, what they were doing felt good and he had never felt so amazing when pressed up against another person. Not even Jess had fit against him this well and he didn't want to stop.

Sam felt a smaller, softer hand grab his own once again, but this time he felt the own man's rock hard cock touch his palm and his own dick gave a twitch. The hunter took the man's firmness into a strong grip and began working his fist up and down in a slow and powerful rhythm, making sure to rub his thumb over the man's head and spread his pre-come with each movement. That on top of Sam grinding against him with growing abandon mixed with the frantic, hungry kisses and bites he was receiving on his neck had the man coming undone, letting out wanton moans and gasps with each new movement.

Suddenly there was a hand on Sam's own dick and he groaned at the surprise contact. This hand was much smaller than his own, but the fingers were nimbler and the mortal found himself lost in sea of bliss so intense he wasn't sure he'd be able to find his way back to land. Profanities escaped his lips when they weren't pressed against the man's flesh and he was suddenly thrusting into the man's hand, unable to get enough of him and the way he was making him feel like he could combust at any given second. He had never gotten so much pleasure out of a simple hand job before, but here he was, about to come as quick as a teenage boy. He didn't care though. This felt _way_ too damn good to stop or slow down.

The other man sighed sadly when the Winchester halted his ministrations on his dick, but then gasped when he felt a pre-come covered finger slowly delving into him. Sam groaned when he felt how incredibly tight and warm his bedfellow was and rocked harder against that fucking magical hand, unable to stop thinking about what it would feel like once he had his cock all the way inside him. It was seconds before he had loosened him up enough to slide in a second and then third finger, and the man rutted against him desperately as Sam began pumping his digits in and out, scissoring him open and making sure to strike that precious bundle of nerves with each movement.

"_Please, Sam," _the man begged in a broken moan.

And instantly Sam was wide-awake, that too-familiar voice jolting him into complete awareness. The other man felt him freeze and he too followed suit.

"Oh Jesus," the mortal murmured, hoping against all hope that this was just one hell of a dream, "please tell me that isn't you, Gabriel."

"In the flesh," was the Trickster's quiet reply.

The younger man instantly pulled away from him as he swiftly said, "I am _so_ sorry. I don't know what came over me. I promise it won't happen again—"

In the blink of an eye, Gabriel had turned around to face Sam and grabbed ahold of him by the wrists, his superhuman strength making sure the man could go nowhere. His olive eyes glowed with lust and something else Sam couldn't place as he stared into Sam's confused, pleasure-hazed hazel.

His voice was so sinful it seemed impossible to have fallen from an angel's lips as he whispered, "What if I want it to happen again?"

Sam forced himself to swallow as he felt his cock give another twinge and suddenly grow rock hard again. "G-Gabriel, I don't know—" He broke off into a gasp as the archangel did something with his Grace to rub against his prostate, sending shocks of pleasure shooting through his body.

"You would not _believe_ some of the tricks I can do," the archangel breathed. "It doesn't have to mean anything. It can just be a way to pass the time, nothing more."

The Winchester was still undecided. He wanted to fuck the Trickster hard enough to break the bed, but he was terrified of the consequences of being friends with benefits with an archangel of the Lord. It could be the best decision ever made, or he could come to regret it for the rest of his days. But Jesus _Christ,_ the man looked fucking devourable.

"So? What do you say, Sam?" the archangel asked, a dark smirk on his full lips that were just too tempting to actually belong to an archangel. "Platonic friendship with mindblowing sex or...plain old platonic friendship?"

* * *

**A/N: **So...what'd you think? Personally, I'm rather fond of this last part, though it was the part I spent the least amount of time writing on.

Now...I need you guys' help. In your reviews, please oh pretty please tell me whether or not I should have a lemon in this next chapter. A Sam/Gabriel lemon. I can't decide what I want Sam to answer with next chapter, so tell me in a review and whichever gets the most votes will be the route I take. Naturally, if you say yes to the lemon that means Sam's cool with being friends with benefits with our resident archangel. And if not...well I guess he's not cool with it. And if a perverse soul provides an espeically creative way for them to do the big nasty (feel free to inbox me about the gory details), I'll depict it graphically.

Just an fyi to you, next week is my last week of class and the week after that is finals. So I may have to stop procrastinating studying and actually stop writing for a bit. It's a travesty, I know. So if it takes awhile for me to reply to your reviews or post, please be patient with me. School sucks major cock.

Haha so thanks a lot for your continued support of my story! Keep on keepin' on!

]:D


	9. Tattered and Crumbling

**A/N: **Firstly, let me just send you all one huge apology for taking half a freaking year to write a chapter. It's a tad shorter than usual, only 13 pages, but fear not because more is on the way (and soon, should this semester not be too crazy). Secondly, thank you to each and every one of you that read this chapter and haven't given up on my story. It makes my day to see the hits go up or to see someone add or review this. I'm sorry for not being a better author to you amazing readers.

Enough of that though. Here is a loose recap of the story so you're not completely confused. Also, a token disclaimer.

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing herewithin, except for maybe the angelification idea thing.

_Chapter 1: _A brief teasing chapter meant to pull you into my story. Dean admits that he has extensive issues and contemplates his newest problems, namely his inability to sleep and the inexplicable desire to defile innocent Castiel.

_Chapter 2:_ A flashback to a hunt gone wrong in Fountain Green, IL. Dean, Sam, and Castiel go to the small town to investigate a peculiar case. With the help of a local hunter, they deduce that demons are behind it and they head to the demons' hideout.

_Chapter 3:_ Flashback continued. Team Freewill plus local hunter duke it out with the demons. Dean is cornered, drugged and taken to another part of the house by a pair of demons and they begin to cast a heavy duty spell on him, cutting his gut wide open in the process. Castiel bamfs into the room and smites the demons, but has expended his Grace and is forced to give Dean his own blood in order to save his life. After drinking the angel blood, Dean is mostly healed but must still spend a few days recovering in the local hotel, which is where he begins to notice that Castiel is glowing like a lightbulb and he no longer feels the need to sleep. The local hunter stops by to bid the men adieu and to give Castiel her research on the spell that had been cast on Dean, and it is then that Team Freewill makes the grisly discovery that the spell was one of demonification. However, since Dean swallowed angel's blood and not demon's, Dean is beginning to change into an angel. _What a twist!_

_Chapter 4: _In which Team Freewill scrambles to reverse the angelification spell, Dean flirts shamelessly with a bartender under the pretense of finding out info on the vampire coven they're hunting, and Sam admits his vehement hate for Gabriel. Dean and Cas have been spending an increasing amount of time with each other now that Dean doesn't need to sleep and they are most definitely growing closer. Dean would have you believe that they're growing closer in a totally friendly, _manly_ way, but only time will tell. Out of options, they summon Gabriel and ask him for help, much to Sam's chagrin. The Trickster, who is loath to help the Winchesters but needs to fix Dean if he wants the Apocalypse to happen, offers to escort Sam into the deepest depths of Hell for the tail of a demon that could revert Dean to his human self, maaaaybe.

_Chapter 5:_ In which Dean is a protective ninny and has to be convinced by Gabriel to allow Sam to go to Hell. Gabriel reminisces on the first time he met the Brothers Winchester when they were children and comes to realize that their lot in life sucks major balls. Begrudgingly, he swears to Dean that he will protect Sam at any cost whilst traipsing through the circles of Hell. The Trickster also admits that he is unsure about what exactly the cure will do. The tail of the demon Malacoda, the embodiment of Truth, could either: 1. turn Dean into a baby, 2. turn Dean into his normal, human self, or 3. do absolutely nothing and allow Dean to become an angel. Sam and Dean say goodbye to each other and Gabriel takes Sam somewhere private. Sam learns that in order for his soul to survive in Hell, he must begin drinking demon blood again. He agrees to break his sobriety in order to save his brother and, under the influence of the blood, has a steamy makeout scene with the Trickster before Gabriel's rusty morals make them stop. Castiel hides Sam's physical body inbetween dimensions where it can't be found by Lucifer and Sam and Gabriel embark on their journey to Hell.

_Chapter 6:_ Dean and Castiel share a fluffy, sweet moment alone underneath the stars and Dean begins to realize that their broship is edging closer and closer into the land of bromance. Gabriel tells indecent amputee jokes and contemplates how terrible it is to have a crush on Samsquatch while Sam desperately wishes to get away from the Trickster and to get this all over with. Dean and Castiel go to fight the coven of vampires and, of course, their surprise attack fails. Upon seeing Castiel injured and near death, Dean accidentally releases his Grace and smites all the vampires in one glorious burst of light. Afterwards, in the hotel, Dean lays on the same bed as Castiel (he insists it was because he could only see the tv properly from Castiel's bed), and they fall asleep holding hands. D'aaaaaw.

_Chapter 7:_ To pass the time in Hell, Gabriel sings horribly and sends flirtatious prank texts from Lucifer to Sam's phone. Sam reaches his breaking point and tackles the archangel. A heated tussle of words ensues and Gabriel offers to ward Sam's dreams to keep Lucifer out of them. Sam agrees to it, taken aback by the angel's sudden willingness to help. Later that night, they get into the same bed (Sam wants to believe that he doesn't like sharing a bed with Gabriel, but he secretly likes how the Trickster's hands feel in his hair) and Gabriel protects his dreams. Meanwhile, on the mortal plane, Dean fucks up royally with Castiel. On his neverending quest to convince himself that he does _not_ have a thing for the falling angel, Dean becomes royally sloshed and takes that cute bartender from before home. Even though she's hot and willing, he can't stop thinking about Castiel. And when Castiel appears in the bedroom as Dean and the bartender are going at it full swing, Dean realizes he's made one hell of a mistake.

_Chapter 8:_ Castiel contemplates the confusion that comes with newfound emotions and comes to the conclusion that he had misinterpreted Dean's signals and actions. He decides that while he may love and cherish the elder Winchester, he will respect the fact that Dean does not feel the same way. Unless Dean admits his feelings to the angel in crystal clear clarity, Cas will be a friend only to him. Dean, meanwhile, abuses his newfound Grace to send texts to his ovary-laden brother for advice and comes to the earth-shattering conclusion that he is maybe sorta kinda in love with Castiel and decides to profess his love (but in a very manly, non-gay way). Before he can tell Castiel how he feels, however, the angel tells him that he wishes to be friends. Heartbroken and pissed, Dean storms off to get shit faced. Castiel, bless him, is oblivious. Meanwhile, Sam is startled to find out that his brother has a thing for the Holy Tax Accountant, but has bigger things on his plate. Time goes by much faster in Hell, so what has only been a few days on the surface has been months and months in Hell. In that time span Sam and Gabriel have become very friendly and trusting of each other and Sam has honed his awesome demon blood powers. Sam wakes up one morning curled up against a firm body and, in a half awake and horny stupor, starts something that Gabriel doesn't want to end. When Sam wakes up completely and realizes he is about to have sex with _an archangel,_ he freaks and backs away but Gabriel, who has wanted this ever since they met on that college campus, offers to become friends with benefits, no strings attached whatsoever.

What oh what will Sam decide? And what peril will poor heartbroken Dean get himself into next? Ladies and gentlemen, I give you...

* * *

Chapter 9: Tattered and Crumbling

Being an omnipotent being, Gabriel really should have been able to think out the consequences before asking Sam Winchester if he wanted to participate in incredibly devious and blasphemous sexual acts with him. In the seconds it took before Sam answered his question, he contemplated the situation he had just thrown himself into.

In the beginning, when Gabriel had masqueraded as a TV repairman to meet the Winchesters, he had found it incredibly upsetting that he felt so drawn towards the youngest boy's soul. It wasn't attraction—that would just be perverse—but it had seemed like something within Sam's soul had cried out and struck a chord within the archangel's. The Trickster could see all the trouble he would get into as he grew older, how he would never be able to do anything that would appease his father and would eventually just give up trying to make him proud. Gabriel could see that there would be a night in which Sam would say goodbye to his father and beloved brother and leave for Stanford, his ticket to a job that would offer benefits, not hard jail time or a lifetime membership at the nearest insane asylum, a permanent place to call home, and perhaps someone he could live a regular, apple pie life with.

It must have been the similarities that made Gabriel want him so bad. Sure, there was an undeniable ocean of differences between them, but it had been an incredibly long time since the archangel had managed to find another soul that was so much like his own. Once upon a time, he had grown sick of the way things were in his crazy family and he was sick of the job his father had given him so he bailed and headed to Earth, where he made a place for himself in the Norse pantheon and things were...okay for a long time. He liked most of the gods there—Christianity really needed to quit being so harsh on them because they were a lot better than what the Good Book made them out to be. But even though he loved his new role of Trickster, Gabriel had distinctly felt that there was something missing in his existence. He had tried endlessly to fill this newfound and painful hole within himself—women, men, alcohol, confections, sordid affairs with other gods, he had even ventured into Hell to try to fix things with Lucifer, but his brother was already too consumed with petty revenge to heed any of Gabriel's reasoning and pleas. After all of those things had failed miserably, he felt he had no other option but to perfect his new visage of Loki, so he mastered the art of just desserts over the centuries, even after he left the Norse realm to wander Earth disguised as a mortal. Whatever he desired he conjured. Whoever he wanted, he got. It wasn't hard to get a person to like you when all their thoughts and personality traits were so easily laid out in their head for you.

But Sam Winchester was different.

There was something about him that made Gabriel want to put away his Grace and truly build something with him, without any shortcuts or cheats. Though the reason was unknown to him, the archangel wanted Sam more than he wanted to set elaborate illusions for sinners, more than he wished for the End of Days, and perhaps even more than he craved sugar. It was a terrifying thought to grapple; angels hadn't really been made to love and they _definitely_ weren't supposed to have inter-species couples, but maybe the centuries of paganism and life on Earth had altered him so much that he couldn't honestly call himself an archangel anymore.

All he knew for sure was that he needed Sam and there was nothing he wouldn't do to get him, short of tricking him.

Gabriel began to worry that he was developing an alternate personality.

He watched as Sam thought out all possible pros and cons of hooking up with an archangel turned Norse god and _ooh,_ if that man didn't stop biting his lip in that seriously hot way, Gabriel would really have no choice but to pounce on him and take advantage of him. He should have just kept his stupid mouth shut earlier because Sam wouldn't have stopped and they could be sitting on cloud nine right now, but that Winchester was just too much of a tease.

Believe it or not, Gabriel hadn't _really_ planned for any of this to happen this morning. He had actually been enjoying a light slumber (Unlike almost all other angels, he had learned over the centuries how to sleep, but it still wasn't what humans would call a full slumber. It was just a glorified, extended catnap, but the Trickster lived for moments when he could actually close his eyes to the chaos and _rest._) While he slept he could easily keep track of all energies and presences around, so he was aware that the incredibly large and warm man was crowding his personal space, but since the archangel was currently in that euphoric half-awake haze, he found that he just could not be troubled enough to summon up his dusty and largely unused scruples to stop that delectable grinding before it turned into something that the Winchester wasn't ready for.

So when things reached critical mass and the Trickster couldn't really claim sleepiness as an excuse, and when something suspiciously like guilt began to shift his innards about uncomfortably, he knew that he needed to put a halt to this train of consequences before he was tied onto the tracks before it by a very angry, confused, and muscly Sasquatch-human hybrid.

And really—he meant to stop it completely. Scout's honor. See, the thing was...there was just one eensy teensy thing that kept him from calling it quits.

He wanted Sam more than he ever had before; each and every one of his vessel's nerve endings were dancing with fire and need, and Gabriel's patience had been corroded and worn away by his centuries of instant gratification. He had tried to contain himself—truly, he had—but there was only so much any one archangel/Norse god could take.

So he naturally held the mortal down and offered him an opportunity he'd be an idiot to refuse, knowing full well that said mortal _wasn't_ and idiot and would almost certainly agree to it.

If Pops was watching all of this right now, he probably wouldn't be too pleased. However, Gabriel had been committing misdeeds and disgracing his family for centuries without retribution, so it seemed evident that Dad had left the building, left the whole freaking world behind, without a care. That said, there was close to nothing that the archangel wouldn't do. When a person was so high up on the chain of command like Gabriel was, and when the only person he had to answer to suddenly ditched his post, there were no longer any rules to follow and no consequences for anything. When he had first fallen from Heaven and down to Earth he had been just as much of a stick in mud as Castiel had, but as time passed and he gradually realized that God didn't give two shits about what he did, or what _anybody_ did by the looks of it (Gabriel cited the monstrosity that was Justin Bieber as recent proof), the Trickster had lost his sense of consequences and the feeling that was his guilt virtually faded into nothing.

This morning was the first time in eons that Gabriel had done something to rekindle those nearly forgotten sensations.

He knew that it was wrong, perhaps even shameful, to bribe Sam Winchester into a relationship with him. He found nothing amiss with a casual sexual relationship, but something inside him cried out at the disservice he was doing to Sam by not informing him of his true intentions. Sure, the archangel wanted sex—who the hell wouldn't? Just look at the man. But he wanted more than the press of flesh. It seemed that after an eternity of avoiding relationships and closeness of any kind like the plague, Gabriel's soul now yearned for someone solid, someone permanent, someone he could count on to be there in the morning.

Why he seemed to be convinced that Sam Winchester was the one still evaded him, but he figured that sometimes there could be a rhyme without a reason. It wasn't okay that he was bribing this unwitting mortal for selfish personal gain. Gabriel knew and admitted this—he just wanted it too bad to follow his own advice.

And that was how an archangel-turned-trickster and a mortal found themselves tangled up in the sheets of a silken bed somewhere deep in a forest of Hell, weaving a web of delicate glass and fragile trust. The slightest wrong move, the smallest of misgivings, and that web would shatter and tear them apart.

Sam's hazel orbs roved Gabriel's body, his brow furrowed in frustration as he fought to make a rational decision. The archangel wanted to kiss and lick and bite that frustration and ration away and had to stave off a soft growl of desire.

"I've decided," the mortal said quietly, his voice a bit cracked from the adrenaline.

* * *

It seemed that Sam's life had taken it upon itself to make every single day crazier than the last. Just a couple years ago he had been killing monsters and demons for a living, plain and simple. Then his brother started the Apocalypse, and they were scrambling to keep it from happening. But then Sam majorly screwed things up by accidentally letting Lucifer out of the Cage, and then Team Freewill rushed to kill him without getting manhandled by the angels. And right when he thought that things couldn't possibly get any crazier, Dean managed to get himself turned into an angel. Awesome. Fantastic. The next thing he knew, he was going to Hell with Gabriel the fucking _archangel,_ of all the people in the world, to find some impossibly strong demon's tail to remedy their latest fiasco.

And now Sam found himself underneath an archangel with smoldering olive eyes and a smirk so devilish it really shouldn't have been possible for him to have, and Sam was considering his offer of mind-blowing sex very carefully because he had the distinct feeling that this could either make or break him in the blink of an eye.

The younger Winchester had never really cared all that much about the gender of his partners. College was for little more than experimentation and copious amounts of cheap beer, after all, and regardless of what Dean claimed, he had certainly lived it up while at Stanford. That said, Sam usually found that he wound up with women simply because it was less of a hassle. It was easier to date a chick than to date a guy and have to constantly live under the scrutiny of the "horrible sin" they were committing, or whatever. Besides, he got enough crap from Dean about being a girl as it was—he really didn't want to give his brother any more ammo than was necessary.

That would no longer be an issue though, if their conversation last night was anything to go by. If Dean was cutting himself a bit of angel food cake, surely Sam could too, right? Sam was still trying to wrap his mind around that whole conundrum, but he couldn't afford any time to contemplate it when he had a very hungry, very horny archangel pinning him down and waiting impatiently for him to answer his question.

So back to the plight at hand: sex with the undercover archangel with no strings attached or what would definitely be an awkward friendship after this. The Winchester looked Gabriel over, taking in his vessel's shaggy brown hair that was just the perfect length to run his fingers through, those olive eyes that were burning with a light human in its lust and yet completely other-worldly in its intensity, the way his plump lips were curling into a devilish smile as he watched Sam plan out their next move. The Trickster was gifted with a downright flawless physique, and that on top of the way Sam could already feel his Grace thrumming through his vessel was murmuring soft promises of bliss incomparable.

Gabriel had said that it would be "a way to pass the time, nothing more," and he may have been infamous for his pranks and jokes, but Sam had not a shred of doubt that he would keep his word in this case. This was a matter that even the Trickster would take seriously.

So as long as Gabriel kept to his word and this stayed a strictly friends-with-benefits deal, Sam figured that it would be alright. It's not like they could ever have a relationship—the archangel still wanted the Winchesters to do their parts to end the world, which was why they were in Hell at the moment. Besides, the angel had ditched his family and currently delighted in hopping from place to place, ensnaring sinners in his elaborate, ironic deathtraps. He didn't exactly scream "good relationship material."

Perhaps this would be the way to make both of them happy. Though Sam didn't really want to admit it or give it much thought, he had come to enjoy his time with the archangel and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't attracted to the Trickster on at least a physical level. They could have amazing, earth-shattering sex and at the end of it, they could just walk away like it didn't happen. Everybody would wind up happy.

"I've decided," he said quietly.

"And?"

Having concluded that words were no longer necessary, Sam grabbed him by the waist and tugged him so that they were flush against each other, and then swallowed Gabriel's gasp in a deep, voracious kiss.

The archangel froze for the briefest of moments before suddenly coming to life underneath the Winchester's supple fingers, and Sam had a handsy, grinding archangel on top of him, plying his senses with kisses that left Sam gasping for air and grasping futilely to reality, teasing him with altogether scrumptious friction and flesh.

Honestly? Sam couldn't have been happier.

Well, that's what he had thought before the Trickster traced a magically lubed index finger tenderly around the mortal's pucker before delving into it with said digit, anyways. He couldn't help the soft exclamation that escaped his lips at the slightly burning but entirely welcome intrusion.

Gabriel cocked his eyebrow amusedly and tried very, _very_ hard to squelch the annoyingly inappropriate pride that had burgeoned when he realized he was _finally_ making Sam quiver with ecstasy, and they had hardly started the foreplay. His vessel's more than ready dick was pressed against Sam's inner thigh and the Trickster rutted shamelessly against the mortal as Sam rocked his hips towards him in a desperate attempt to draw that finger in deeper, to descend fully into madness.

Now the angel was completely overloading his senses with his fiery touch and it was all the youngest Winchester could do to bite down on his lip and tug almost viciously at Gabriel's honeyed locks, all the while writhing against him as if his life depended on it. He sought to fill that void inside him with more of the molten pleasure pooling around his navel.

When the Trickster finally struck Sam's prostrate with three fingertips, the hunter let out an approving hum as electricity shot through his core. But when Gabriel tapped that bundle of nerves again with a dab of Grace, the mortal couldn't stop the mewl that was magnified by the cave walls while he fought his hardest to keep from ending this amazing fuckfest way earlier than scheduled. Whatever Gabriel had done—Sam had never felt anything so fucking good in all his life. It felt like the angel had managed to suck, lick and nibble every single inch of his flesh in that one moment and it left him breathless and begging for more.

"Again," he breathed out, and Gabriel felt a shiver pass through himself when he saw the animalistic hunger glinting in the mortal's eyes.

The Trickster obliged his lover and hit that sweet spot harder, with a touch more Grace. He watched as Sam's body arched of its own accord and the hunter let out a strained cry that was as unabashed as it was pleading. Seeing this mortal crumble and fall apart before him made a soft keen fall from the angel's plump lips and he knew that he wouldn't be able to last much longer if Sam was going to keep making those tremendously beautiful sounds.

Sam rutted against Gabriel's hand, seeking more of that same full-body euphoria but sighed discontentedly when he felt the blessed intrusion retreat.

"Don't worry, Sammy," the angel murmured, giving a few slow tugs to his aching, primed cock as a smirk grew on his lips. "That was nothing compared to what I'm gonna make you feel in a second."

He positioned himself right at the hunter's reddened opening and took a deep breath to steady himself while Sam dug his nails into Gabriel's back, dragging him down so that their chests were touching. The archangel pushed in at a rate that was as tortuous as it was mind-blowing and Sam gasped as he felt himself stretching to accommodate Gabriel's girth. He had never been bottom before so this was entirely new territory to him, but Jesus _Christ_, it was the best feeling in the fucking world to be filled by something so warm and solid and nearly humming with the sort of power and energy no mortal could possess.

The Trickster had known that Sam had never been on the receiving end of things before so he made sure to take his time at first. He wasn't always the most merciful guy around but he knew that if he ever wanted this to happen again, he'd have to be on his best behavior this time around.

Each inch deeper was grueling perfection and the angel found himself biting his lip as he sucked in unnecessary air in one long, soft hiss, fighting against the all-consuming urge just to fuck the hunter senseless. Sam's channel was so tight and hot that Gabriel felt like he could explode from all the pleasure and when he finally bottomed out and came to a shuddering stop inside the hunter, he opened his eyes to see the voracious, ecstasy-hazed hazel gaze of his lover locked on his visage.

Sam took a couple deep breaths of air and attempted to gather what miniscule bits of restraint he had left that would keep him from rolling the angel underneath him and riding him until the sun rose.

It took a little bit to find the right rhythm, that flawless tug and pull that made the air between them sizzle with passion and their nerve endings ignite in a firestorm of lust and hunger. Sam grasped at the archangel's hips, squeezed his ass while he arched his back and moaned deep and low in the back of his throat when his lover slammed into his prostrate, making his entire body tense up as electricity blazed inside his core. So long...it had been _so_ long since the Winchester had managed to find anyone who could unravel him in mere minutes like this that he was already close to plateauing. He just needed that little extra push—

He looked up and a jolt of excitement ran through him when he saw the way sweat curved gracefully down Gabriel's knitted brow, as he heard the soft grunts that escaped his lover's lips with each new, full thrust. The desperation in the Trickster's gaze spoke for him—he was just as ready as the mortal.

"Harder," he whispered.

Suddenly they were magicked into a new position, Sam on his knees and Gabriel knelt behind him, their delicate bond still intact. The hunter didn't even have time to react to the abrupt switch before Gabriel began thrusting into him with deep, powerful strokes that hit his sweet spot each and every time, his grip on his hips sure to leave a bruise. It was all Sam could do to grab onto the metal headboard and push back against his lover's every move, matching each push with an equally strong shove that left both men reeling with the waves of euphoria that rocketed through them with each impact.

The Trickster's true name fell from Sam's lips like a broken prayer time and time again as he impaled himself on Gabriel's rock hard cock while the angel's entire body began to quiver and silvery moans of nonsense and "Sammy," but something was missing and they both could sense it. Desperately, viciously they rocked against each other in a crazed attempt to finally fill the aching pools of pleasure in their loins, the bed hitting against the cave's stone floors with the power of each and every thrust, but it still wasn't enough.

But when the archangel put just another smidgeon of Grace over his dick and surged forward to slam against the hunter's sweet spot one more time, the world stood still as an explosion of colors and sensations and motherfucking mind-blowing _ecstasy_ rocked through every fiber of Sam's being. With a cry of his lover's name, he came fast and hard, spurting his seed all over his own stomach. Watching Sam come absolutely unhinged and feeling his hot channel tighten and quiver so much that it almost hurt, the archangel gave one more thrust before he too spilled his load, filling the mortal with it as he let himself get swept away on the wings of heady release.

They collapsed beside each other on the bed, their breaths coming in quick gasps as they struggled to regain reality. Sam looked over to the archangel-turned-fuckbuddy and took in his tousled hair and decidedly worn out olive eyes.

Hands down. Best. Sex. Ever.

The Trickster's gaze suddenly glimmered with renewed vigor as he picked up on the hunter's thoughts. "You can worship me later," he smirked, "but right now you should rest a bit more before we head out. Crossing the River Styx won't be easy."

He was too tired to glower at the angel like he wanted to, so he chose to let it slide just this once. Fingers were gliding through his hair in a soothing, gentle way and before he knew it he was being carried off by them into a peaceful dreamland.

_Oh yeah,_ he thought right before his world went dark, _I could _definitely_ get used to this._

* * *

Dean wished he knew how to conjure things like Gabriel did. Because right now, he'd be literally drowning himself in a river of Southern Comfort if he could. Instead, he was forced to do the next best thing he could think of: maxing out three credit cards (he would probably feel terribly sorry for bankrupting Ms. Rodriguez tomorrow) at the nearest strip club—one card for the women and two for the liquor.

See, when Dean had sped off in the Impala and straight into the red-light district, he had planned to drink and fuck enough that, by the end of it, he wouldn't be able to feel anything except bliss.

He should have known that it was scientifically impossible for anything to go right for him. Looking back on his life, there hadn't really been a single goddamn thing that went like it should have, relationships especially. Why had he thought that things with Cas would be any different?

Dean tossed back another shot of the whiskey and let it slip from his hands to land amongst all the other haphazard, spent glasses that littered the bar.

"You better slow down there, tiger," one of the whores whispered in his ear as she ran a manicured hand up his arm, "or else you won't be able to play with us later."

The mortal-turning-angel nearly laughed. Thirty-some shots of straight up hard liquor, and he still wasn't even tipsy. Vaguely he decided that robbing a liquor store of all its contents might be on the agenda later on in the night.

Jezebel, a prostitute with long locks of platinum and foxy green eyes, suddenly slid onto his lap and placed her hands on the Winchester's waist casually. She leaned closer to Dean, her ample bosom about to spill out of microscopic sailor's top. Her tongue traced a warm, moist trail along his earlobe before she breathed, "How about you and me find somewhere a little more private?"

The alcohol wasn't really taking Dean's mind off of previous events, but maybe a warm body would. Handle of SoCo in tow, he allowed Jezebel to lead him by the hand through the dark club and towards the back where the private rooms were hidden. Away from all the flashing lights, loud music and prying eyes, Dean could finally appreciate this young woman's features. While he had first thought that her hair was a light blond, it was actually silver. _You don't see that every day,_ he thought to himself. He shrugged it off though—it didn't look bad on her.

Without warning, Jezebel's grip on the hunter's wrist tightened, so much so that Dean thought it would break. In an inhuman amount of time he was dragged into one of the private rooms and hurled against the opposite wall as the petite lady serenely locked the door behind them. The mortal-turning-angel groaned as he picked himself off the floor while his head pulsed with sharp pain. Was this a vamp from that coven looking for vengeance? Some other pissed off creature of the night that had a vendetta against the Winchesters? Dean smashed the bottle of Southern Comfort against the wall, leaving the jagged neck of it in his hand and at the ready to slice and dice this fucker up. Blood dripped down his hand from where part of the glass had cut him, but he couldn't have cared less at the moment.

"Who the fuck are you and what do you want?" Dean snarled.

The whore's lips turned downwards in a contrived frown. "You don't remember me, Dean? I'm hurt. I've done so much for you, taken you so many places."

"Look, just tell me what you want so we can get this shit over with," he growled. "It's been a bad day."

Jezebel smiled then, but it was an expression cold and malicious. The lights in the small room flickered and faded as the shadows of massive wings formed briefly behind the prostitute before vanishing. That familiarly frigid smirk and silver hair, the angel's wings, it all made sense to Dean now. He was a fool for not noticing it sooner. He spat the name from his lips like a curse. "Zachariah."

That false smile widened. "So you do remember me. I was worried you'd never figure out who I was with this new vessel."

_Shit. Shit shit shit._ Just what the hell was Dean supposed to do? Here was Zachariah, perhaps with a small garrison of angels hidden amongst the people in the strip club, and he was completely by himself. He couldn't call Castiel—it would be a death sentence to have him try to fight Zachariah, and Sam was currently in the bowels of Hell. Had they found out about his angelification? Or were they looking for where Sammy's body was? Or did they want to badger him into saying yes? Either way, Dean knew that he was backed up in a corner and there was nothing he could do to escape them this time.

"What do you want?" he ground out again.

Zachariah must have picked up on Dean's hostility because she held up her hands in a placating manner and said calmly, "I didn't come to fight—I just want to talk. You see, you Winchesters seem to have this _infuriating_ ability to throw a wrench into each and every one of our plans. And we angels don't like having to clean up after you filthy mudmonkeys all the time. Things were looking good after I showed you how the future would go if you refused to say 'yes' to Michael, but all of a sudden we began to notice that your soul was changing. Would you mind telling me exactly how you managed to slander my race by joining the ranks?"

"Hey, buddy. I'm pretty sure you gave yourselves a bad enough name before I came along. And what's it to you how it happened? All that matters is that in a few days I'll be just like you, y'know, just not as much of a dick."

The angel's smile dropped and she glared at Dean with unbridled hatred. "Listen, you arrogant _shit,_ I am so sick of dealing with you and your idiot brother and angel. I'm done listening to your bullshit, so I'm breaking this down to the bare minimum so you can understand me. We know that you somehow found a way to become an angel. We know that Castiel has lost nearly all of his Grace. We know that your brother has suddenly vanished off the face of the Earth, but we also know that he isn't dead because he hasn't been spotted in Heaven or Hell. We know that you've come into contact with Gabriel in the past few days. What we need to know is how you started the angelification, where your brother went to, and what you were doing with Gabriel."

The fact that the angels knew he was becoming one of them didn't come as a surprise. Dean had known that it would only be a matter of time before they sensed the change. And it wasn't shocking that they knew Cas was running low on mojo. But just how the hell did they find out about Sam? And Gabriel? Just how close of an eye were they keeping on the Winchesters? It should have been impossible given the Enochian carved onto their ribs.

Dean was careful to school his expression to hide any and all surprise or fear that may have wanted to appear. "Why the hell would I tell you?"

That smile was back on Zachariah's lips, cutting and feral, not unlike the ones the hunter remembered Alistair wearing as he found a new way to make a soul cry out in excruciation. "Because if you _don't_ tell us, we'll kill Castiel."

That simple sentence stopped Dean in his tracks and his own cocky grin slid from his lips in an instant. They didn't know where Castiel was. They couldn't. The hex bags they carried with them at all times kept them invisible to all demons and angels. Unless all four of the bags had been sabotaged, there was no way they could have been located—

"Dean, Dean, Dean," the angel tutted, "it doesn't matter how many hex bags or sigils you carry as long as you drive such a distinct car. You're staying at the Blue Winds Motel on Orchard Street. Castiel is currently in room twenty-six, along with six of my soldiers." At this, the mortal lunged at the angel, a vicious growl filling the room as he intended to cut Zachariah's pretty new face to ribbons, but the angel effortlessly sidestepped him, chuckling. "You humans…always resorting to violence when things get complicated."

This was quickly going from bad to worse. How the fuck was it that Dean seemed to attract nothing but calamity? Seriously, it was getting old.

The Winchester backed himself up against the wall, warily watching Zachariah as he smirked victoriously. Indecision danced in Dean's eyes and the blood that dripped down his hand hit the floor with a soft splat. That bottle had really sliced his hand up earlier…

Suddenly an idea sparked in his mind and he began setting it in motion as he spoke to Zachariah. "So you wanna know how I started becoming an angel? Some demons captured me and fucked up a spell that was supposed to turn me into a demon. But hey, I'll take being a dick with wings over being some scum-sucking monster any day, even if it's not much of an improvement."

Dean backed away from the wall to reveal a nasty, intricate Enochian spell he had hastily scribbled with his own blood. This whole understanding Enochian thing was coming in handy, if he did say so himself. He saw Zachariah's horrified, startled expression and wasted no time gloating—he shoved his hand over the seal, a triumphant grin gracing his lips.

Then, two things happened very swiftly.

An excruciating white light filled the room and Dean covered his eyes with his arm as Zachariah screamed and vanished, along with his garrison of angels at the hotel, and any other angels that happened to be within a five mile radius.

It felt as if each beam of light emitted from the sigil was a knife, stabbing into him and threatening to slice him to ribbons where he stood. Dean cried out and fell to his knees, shaking and scared. Not even some of Alistair's most inventive techniques had been as painful as this.

As the glow faded from the wall, the Winchester lay on the ground gasping for air and trying desperately to find his sanity amidst the excruciation that still ached in every inch of his body. He knew that he needed to get up and run to Castiel to make sure he was still okay, but his body needed time to recuperate from the onslaught. He cursed himself on the ground; it had been an idiotic move, casting an angel banishing spell when he was almost half-angel.

But then again, self-sacrifice was practically Dean's middle name.

He was able to pick himself off the floor gingerly after a few minutes of steady breaths and even though every fiber of his being protested it, he ran to the Impala and hammered the accelerator the entire way back to the hotel, praying that Cas hadn't been injured too.

Dean all but kicked down the door to their motel room in his haste and his green eyes cast about the room in search of his angel amongst the wreckage of the angel-bombed room. His Grace instinctively reached out in search of Castiel's familiar glow.

There it was, faint and wavering like a candle, behind the closed door of the bathroom. Dean wasted absolutely no time in hurling himself into the tiny restroom, fearing the worst.

The angel lay in a quivering heap on the ground, an unhealthy amount of blood dripping from his nose and eyes. Lacerations the vicious black and blue of bruises and broken bones marred his chest and arms, his shirt and trenchcoat scattered around in the debris. His sharp blue eyes seemed to be almost grey and his ashen lips trembled as he tried to make sound.

"D-dean," he rasped.

The Winchester was on his knees beside Cas in a heartbeat, all fluttering hands and wide, scared eyes. He had seen the angel come out of some fights pretty beat up, but he had never seen him so weak, so frail.

So mortal.

"Don't speak out loud," Dean said quickly. "Tell me what to do."

As Castiel gave the hunter a crash course via mind link in using Grace to heal, Dean's hands trembled and his brow knit with effort. Tendrils of fledgling energy leapt from his palms and into the angel's vessel to seek out its damaged parts and mend them, like a gentle stream washing away the dirt to reveal a gem. He watched as the bruises and cuts gradually faded from the angel's body as his soft blue Grace enveloped his body, focusing everything solely on fixing each and every mar. Dean knew that he had only himself to blame for this, his latest and greatest blunder that had almost ended in the death of _another_ of his closest companions.

Why was it that everything in Dean's world was tattered and crumbling?

And why was he always one moment too late to prevent any of it?

* * *

**A/N:** I hope that you enjoyed this chapter. I admit, it was rough trying to get back into the swing of things and I would really appreciate your feedback on this chapter. Tell me what you liked. Tell me what you hated. Tell me what you would like to see more or less of. Tell me whatever and I'll dig it. Also, feel free to check out my other fics (they're all Supernatural ones).

Thanks for reading this far. It means a lot to me that you haven't given up on this story. I already know what I want to happen in the next chapter, so I hope to have it out in the next couple weeks. Take it easy!


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